Tangled
by Wyndhamfan
Summary: Set right after the season finale What you see is what you see. It’s been a bad few weeks for Danny Messer. It’s about to get worse when he suddenly falls seriously ill.
1. Chapter 1 and 2

**TANGLED  
**

**By Wyndhamfan **

**-------------------------- **

**Summary:** Set right after the season finale _What__ you see is what you see. _Spoilers for thatand On The Job, Tanglewood and more.It's been a bad few weeks for Danny Messer. It's about to get worse when he suddenly falls seriously ill.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Danny Messer or any of the characters in the fabulous show CSI: New York. I'm writing this fanfic for entertainment purposes only and am not earning a cent from it.

**Chapter 1  
**

Seriously, he shouldn't have gone in. He should've just pretended that he didn't care, but he wanted to know so badly that his feet were walking before he could stop them. And he found himself in Mac's office, eventually asking the question:

"Me and you. We good?"

It seemed as if a long silence stretched between the two of them before the former Marine answered: "We'll see."

Danny supposed that was good an answer as any. Better than the stony silence that Mac had given him the last time they had a "talk" in his office. Back then, Mac's lack of response towards the end had hit him like a sack of bricks in his gut. This time …well, he'll just have to live with it. At least there is some hope that they're gonna be okay.

As he walked out of Mac's office, he tried to suppress a shiver than ran through his body. He cast a furtive glance towards Aiden and heaved a sigh of relief when he realized that she was so busy with the reports on her desk that she hadn't noticed his little moment of weakness.

Bad enough that she was nagging him about the psych evaluation. He didn't need her to nag him about a simple cold now.

On his way out of the exit, Danny shrugged on his coat, cursing the persistent cold that had nagged him for almost a week now. It wasn't bad. He could just ignore it – had ignored countless of colds before that, so he had good practice. But it got in the way of his concentration at a time when he needed it most.

And it chose to attack him at the best time too – just a few days after the disastrous IAB investigation on his role in the cop shooting.

He got into his car and promised himself that he'd spend the weekend sleeping. Suppressing yet another shudder, Danny muttered to himself: "Better than facing Hillborn on Monday." He pictured Chief Dwight Hillborn's sour face and grimaced.

It was as if the IAB, annoyed that they couldn't bring any solid charges against him, wanted to make his life as difficult as possible on his way out of their investigation. It didn't matter that he'd already earn a permanent black mark in his record and that he was off the promotion grid ­– you just don't shoot one of your own.

And he didn't have any doubt that they'd be interested in the results of the psych evaluation.

Thinking about the whole cop-shooting affair and the impending "formality" with the IAB soured his mood so much that by the time he reached his apartment, he was grumpy enough not to greet Mrs Ecklemen knitting at her usual spot in the lounge area. But Shannon, his next door neighbour, was harder to ignore.

"You okay, today?" she asked as he inserted his key into the door to his apartment. She gave him a bright smile and brushed a lock of blonde hair away from her face.

Shannon didn't know about the cop shooting. Just knew that he had a hard time at work the past few weeks.

He wanted to brush her off with a curt, "Fine", but Shannon had this ability to make him smile – just like Aiden did, actually – no matter the situation.

He gave her a wry smile. "As good as it can be," he said vaguely.

"That bad, huh?"

He gave her a weak smile.

"Well, you know what? Sandy says thanks for not reporting Rocky last week," she threw him another dazzling smile as she leaned against the doorjamb. Sometimes it mystified him why a gorgeous blonde bombshell like Shannon would be throwing him smiles like that. Not that he complained.

Sandy, by the way, was her cousin from Iowa, who tried to smuggle her mutt Rocky into the apartment two weeks ago. They would've been successful if not for him suddenly stepping out to the corridor while they were opening the door. Instead of reporting them in, he'd given Rocky an ear scratch – which made promptly made the mutt his slave.

"Sure thing. If you tell me, the super's being an ass with the ban on pets," he said.

"Yeah, you're telling me. I mean, Rocky was such a sweetie. Not even a single bark."

Not one who excelled in small talk, he ran out of ideas for topics fast. "Uh, so …" he gestured awkwardly towards his door.

"Oh, right!" Shannon smiled sheepishly. "I'll see ya." She gave him a last smile before slipping into her apartment.

Danny closed the door to his apartment behind him and muttered, "Danny, you schmuck. When are you going to ask her out already?"

As he walked into his simple one bedroom apartment, he shrugged off his coat, tossed it one side and removed his car keys. That, he tossed on the dining table. With a heavy sigh, he sank into the beat up sofa in the living room and buried his head in his hands.

Damn, he ached. His body felt like a tonne of bricks, and it was hard to maintain a façade of health when he was going around trying to help Mac with the coffee shop shooting case. Then there was the psych eval, which drained him even further. At the end of the day, he wondered how he had the strength to even stand, let alone confront Mac.

"Man, Danny Messer. How you've fucked up," he muttered into his hands.

It could've been much worst, he supposed. They could've foundout just how far he was entangled with the Tanglewood Boys. Not that he's a naive fool who thinks that they'd never find out. He knew that Mac, being the kind of investigator he was, would discover the whole truth one day. He was just buyin' time. Now, they were both dancing around each other. Mac is now suspicious about him while he tried hard to allay Mac's suspicions. And Mac knew that he was being played.

Everything he's worked for … it all comes to nothing. Because it's true what they say – you can't leave the past behind. It comes running after you and when it catches up, it'll never let you go.

**

* * *

**

**Chapter Two**

"He's trying … but…" he had sighed and closed Danny's report when Stella had asked him earlier. He pretty much still felt the same way. Danny might be trying, but he's trying for all the wrong reasons.

Maybe he should've listened when Deckman, his former partner, had hinted that Danny was a loose cannon. Watching Danny crucify himself with the cop-shooting case not only frustrated him, it made him remember Deckman's words about the man.

_"Maybe you should reconsider, heh?" Deckman said as he wolfed down his hot dog._

_Mac frowned. "Danny Messer is a fine Detective, Deckman. And an even better CSI."_

_"Sure," Deckman replied, not taking his eyes off his meal. "But the guy has secrets."_

_"Everyone has secrets,' he shot back._

_This time, Deckman stared him right in the eye. "But your secrets don't put others in danger, does it?"_

After the Tanglewood case, Deckman's words came back to haunt him. Secrets. And Danny seemed to have them. And he was not parting with them anytime soon. He remembered how surprised and disappointed he was when Sonny hinted about Danny's involvement with the Tanglewood Boys. At first he e thought it was just Sonny trying to rattle him. But the more unpredictable got, the more his suspicions grew. He wanted to give Danny the benefit of the doubt, but his behaviour lately had been making that more than impossible.

Deckman must've known more than he had let on. He would've followed up on that after the Tanglewood case if not for the unfortunate fact that Deckman died of a heart attack a month after their earlier conversation.

"Hey, how did that date go?"

He looked up in surprise at Stella, still dressed in her knockout number, standing at the door to his office much like she did a few hours ago.

"What are you doing back at work at this hour?" he asked in surprise. The office was shrouded in darkness except for the light from his computer monitor.

"Could say the same for you," she shot back, giving him her trademark grin. "So? Spill!" she demanded as she seated herself on the seat in front of his table.

He shrugged. "We had a couple of drinks. Dinner …"

Stella nodded. "And you drove back here to do some late night work?" she said, making it sound as if it was the lamest thing he ever did.

"No, I dropped her off first. Then I drove back here to do some late night work."

Stella gave a short laugh and arched an eyebrow. "One step at a time …." She drawled.

"How about _your_ date?" he said in retaliation. It was only fair that she got the same grilling.

She leaned back, crossed her arms and grinned mischievously. "That's P and C."

"Doesn't sound fair," he deadpanned.

She only gave him another grin and her gaze shifted to the opened folder on his table.

"Danny's psych evaluation? You're more concerned than you let on, Detective Mac Taylor," she said, her tone serious.

Mac sighed heavily and rubbed his forehead tiredly.

"Hillborn's not willing to let it go. Danny and I got to meet him on Monday."

"What in the world for?"

"A 'formality'. His words. Hillborn is interested in the psych evaluation. He thinks that Danny is … 'not good for the field'. Probably wants to see if he still has a case."

"No matter what they say about Danny, we know he's a capable CSI. Once the 'formality' is over, it's _over_." she said hotly, her voice firm.

Mac mulled over what she said, wishing to God that it was true.


	2. Chapter 3

**Tangled**

**By Wyndhamfan**

Disclaimers on Chapter 1.

NOTE: Thanks for the kind reviews! This is my first time writing CSI: New York fanfic. I've let Danny get under my skin, and I just had to write something about him to get the itch out. :P Anyhoo, just in case you are wondering, I write in British English. I could spell American, but sometimes I forget, so ... what the hey. Enjoy!

**Stealth Dragon **- Hey, I'm enjoying your stories, btw! And about the horrible illness - would you believe it if I told you that I actually researched about it. It's quite ... er ... relatively exotic. Aren't I cruel to Danny?

**Dinozzo13 – **I have a feeling you like a certain Tony DiNozzo. So do I! Speaking of which, I just hope the NCIS finale won't make me cry. Sniff.

To everyone else: Thank you for dropping a kind word! Now, on to the story!

**Chapter Three **

Sunday, 6pm

Danny rolled on his side slowly, hoping that the slower he did it, the less chance he had of aggravating his already-pounding headache. A bleary look at the clock on his side table told him that it was 6pm.

"Looks like I missed lunch," he rasped to himself as he flung aside his blanket. He immediately regretted it when his skin prickled at the sudden blast of cold air. Sighing, he reached for the blanket and slowly wrapped it around himself.

It had been a miserable Sunday. He had gone to bed on Saturday with a head full of cotton only to awake the next day with a head full of mini hammers going off all at once. Stumbling to the bathroom had been an ordeal. A look at himself in the mirror told him that he wouldn't be winning any beauty contests anytime soon either. He had dosed himself with a couple of aspirins and had stumbled back to bed.

And if only he could sleep. His dreams were filled with strange scenarios – usually involving him trying to find a way out of some kind of maze – which left him with a vague feeling of unease when he woke up. And to top his misery, he was even more miserable awake: he was either too hot or too cold, and he'd spent the majority of the time in bed putting on the blanket and tossing it off.

It was probably the worst cold he'd ever had.

Idly, he wondered if he should go see a doctor. But the thought of stumbling out of the apartment to ride a yellow cab to some doctor's place filled him with such dread that he was galvanized enough to force himself out of bed to stumble to the bathroom.

Coughing, he reached for the medicine cabinet and flinched at the sight of how pale and miserable he looked.

"Danny Messer. You better get better tomorrow or else you're not going to impress anybody – let alone Hillborn," he muttered. Got the cabinet opened. Popped open the aspirin bottle, dry swallowed a few pills.

"Should do it," he muttered as he closed the cabinet. "It better," he sighed, staring at his blood-shot eyes in the mirror.

Then it was back to bed for him. After stumbling not so steadily around the bathroom for a mere ten minutes, he was exhausted enough to welcome the cool sheets of his bed.

Sleep didn't come immediately, of course. He half dreaded the inevitable maze-like dreams he'd get. So, he tried to distract himself with some thing else ... and ended up thinking about the psych evaluation he had two days ago.

_"How did you feel when you realised that you had shot a cop?"_

_Danny shifted in his seat and rubbed his chin._

_"Detective Messer?"_

_He sighed. "How do you think I felt?" he asked, more sharply than he had intended. He closed his eyes and mentally chided himself for screwing up the first answer. Say the right things, he reminded himself. Your job depends on this stupid eval._

_Dr Janice Kellerman didn't even bat an eyelid. She merely said in even tones: "I would like to hear it from you, please."_

_"Like I screwed up."_

_Another stern look from Kellerman._

_"Guilty," he said shortly. Kellerman waited, and he reluctantly added: "Afraid."_

_"Why?"_

_Why do shrinks ask the stupidest questions? He thought, annoyed._

_"Because I didn't want to kill one of the good guys. And I did it. And I can't take it back," he bit out. His head then began to throb dully. He rubbed it distractedly._

_"Are you all right, Detective?"_

_He shrugged. "Just a little headache. Nothing. So, can we get this over with?"_

_"In time, Detective," Kellerman said. Kellerman actually flashed him a small smile before shifting through a bunch of papers. Maybe he's making some progress after all. Charm the shrink, get a day pass out of eval? Well, here's to hoping._

_Then she went on to ask the next question. She put on her glasses, looked at the document she had in her hands and then looked sharply into his eyes and demanded: "What's your involvement with the Tanglewood boys?"_

Danny jerked awake. For a moment, he wondered what had happened, and whether he had answered Kellerman's question. Then he realised that she had never popped it. She had asked more inane questions after that about he "felt" about this or that.

"Shit," he whispered, still shivering from the dream. "Stupid dreams," he muttered and rubbed his forehead, his eyes closed. Damn, the headache is killin' him too.

As he huddled on his side, willing his body to get better, he wondered if he'd be free of the Tanglewood boys. But didn't he say it himself?

Nobody got out of the Tanglewood Boys.

He managed to sleep after that. A sleep so deep he didn't hear the phone ring.

XXXXX

Aiden Burn replaced the receiver and wondered if she should try again. She hadn't managed to catch Danny before he left the office. She wondered if he really did okay at the psych evaluation. Not that he'd ever tell her the truth. To Danny, everything is "figured out" or "fine".

She wondered for a moment if she should drop him a visit. Then shrugged, thinking that he'd probably want to be alone now. And it's Sunday - last thing she wanted to do was to interrupt him while he's with a girl or something.

She grinned at that thought and reached for a coat. With that, Aiden put on her coat to go out and get herself a burrito.


	3. Chapter 4 and 5

**Tangled**

**By Wyndhamfan**

**Notes: **Disclaimer in chapter1.

Dinozzo13 – Y'know, the web is still buzzing over the demise of the character in NCIS. I've more or less accepted it, and have decided to see it from a writer's point of view. I realize that it was good television nevertheless. Whether we'll get the enjoyable comadrie we've had for the past two years with a new ensemble would be debatable though.

Idonno – hours of research! Really! But just a disclaimer: I'm no doctor, so there's some creative license involved. :P

Lauratrekkie – don't I like to torture poor Danny? In real life, I have to identify American spelling and change it to British. It usually drives me nuts. :P

Noodlepie, Stealthdragon – thanks for the compliments! Hope you enjoy the next installment. J

**Chapter Four**

Monday, 8.25am

He woke up and immediately knew that something was wrong. The headache that had plagued him yesterday was back. But instead of being in the background like it was before it was now too obvious to ignore. His head pounded mercilessly, and shifting his head on his pillow incited new mini-hammers going off in his head.

Danny groaned. Somehow, he managed to sit up and look around his room through blurred vision. His glasses. Where were they?

Thinking through his headache was a monumental effort, but he managed to recall that he had placed his glasses in the coffee table outside.

"Shit," he swore, thinking about the effort it'll take for him to walk to the bedroom door, open it, and walk into the living room. He wasn't going to make it.

Then he remembered. It was Monday. Hillborn's "formality". Double shit.

With great effort, he got to his feet, but a wave of dizziness assaulted him, and he suddenly had a hard time figuring where up or down was. He managed to grab the bedpost before falling.

This time he was alarmed enough to feel a stab of fear. He could hear his heart pounding erratically ­– as if he'd just run a mile a minute. And he was suddenly aware about something: He was burning up. The mild fever that he'd had on Sunday was nothing but mild today.

He had just run out of his "luck" points. Wonder if Hillborn would understand if he reported in sick today? That's if he could make it to the telephone outside to report it.

Exhausted from the brief exercise, Danny sank back to his bed and tried to catch his breath.

He closed his eyes and he felt a drop of sweat trickle down his forehead.

Looked like his plan to sleep off the cold had backfired disastrously, he thought. As promised, he had spent the entire Sunday asleep in bed, only waking up in time for toilet breaks and to shovel food into his not-so-eager stomach. He had been achy and slightly feverish yesterday, but he was convinced that he was on his way to being better before he shut his eyes last night. His body must've thought otherwise.

_I can do it. It's just a damn cold. I'll show Hillborn and Mac that I'm takin' this seriously. I'm not going to let a cold screw me over._

In his mind's eye, he imagined Mac sitting in a spartan meeting room with Hillborn on the other side of the table, his expression growing darker and darker as the appointment time slid by. Hillborn, on the other hand, would be smiling. And then he'll say: "Told you he was a bad cop."

He jerked awake, surprised to realize that he'd almost fallen on his back to the bed. Shivering, he wrapped his arms around his body and tried to muster his strength to get up. The thin shirt he wore suddenly felt as if it was made of air. He couldn't get warm.

"You're a loose canon, Messer. The Department cannot use men like you," Hillborn said, suddenly standing by his bed.

"Screw you, Hillborn," he muttered at the imaginary Hillborn. At the same time, he had enough awareness to realize that seeing imaginary IAB personnel in his room wasn't a good sign.

"Got to get to the phone," he wheezed as he used the bed post to lift himself up. He swayed dangerously when he got to his feet, but after a while, he tentatively took a few shaky steps to his bedroom door. His legs trembled wildly, and unfortunately, he had nothing to hold on to.

He knew he wouldn't make it when spots began dancing before his eyes.

_What's wrong with me? _He wondered desperately when his vision darkened further. The stab of fear in his heart grew to pounding panic.

He reached out frantically with his hands, but the world suddenly tilted, and he found himself on the floor, the wind knocked out of him.

_Am I dying? _He wondered numbly. He imagined Mac finding him, rotting alone and in this apartment days later.

"He could've been a good cop," dream-Mac muttered as he put on his gloves.

Resigned, Danny lay on his side on the carpeted floor, trembling from the relentless cold. "I'm sorry, Mac," he whispered, his voice shaking. But Mac couldn't hear him … nobody would again.

Then he closed his eyes and surrendered to the darkness.

XXXXXXXX

9.40. Danny should've landed his butt in the chair next to his 20 minutes ago. Hillborn took every opportunity to remind him of that fact. Every five minutes or so. 

Since he wasn't the type for chit chat or frivolous talk, Mac had made absolutely no effort to engage Hillborn in any conversation beyond a "yes" or "no". As a result, they've sat in stony silence during these long minutes.

At the 22nd minute, Hillborn lost his patience and closed Danny's file with a snap.

"I think we know Detective Messer's answer now. He's not interested in the appointment, and he's not making an effort to tell it to me in person," he said caustically.

Mac couldn't help but agree with Hillborn a little. Danny wasn't the most punctual of persons, and it was probably his fault that he hadn't rein in this particular habit of Danny's sooner. But at the same time he knew that Danny was taking the whole thing very seriously. Their conversation last Saturday was proof enough. He hoped to God that Danny wasn't stuck in traffic or worse, some lame excuse like "I woke up late".

Stella had tried calling Danny on his cell, but it was switched off. The phone in his apartment rang, but nobody picked it up. Her puzzled and disappointed look spoke volumes – she thought he'd be better than this somehow.

Danny was probably on his way here.

Mac frowned. _Hopefully._

"I will reschedule. Tomorrow. Same time. But tell Detective Messer that I won't be this patient tomorrow," said Hillborn shortly.

Mac didn't say anything. Just watched Hillborn march off in a huff, probably off to prosecute another cop.

Stella came in just in time to bump into Hillborn on his way out.

"Judging from your scowl, Danny didn't show up?" Stella asked, her face in a heavy frown.

"No," he said shortly.

"I know our Danny isn't the most punctual guy around, but doesn't it strike you as odd?"

He gave her an inscrutable look, then frowned. "Are you saying that he's in trouble?"

"His mobile is off," she responded, as if that was explanation enough.

It probably was. As CSIs, it had been drilled into them to treat their cells like a part of their being. If there's always one thing he could depend on was that Danny always had his cell on. He frowned at the thought. Then got up and walked quickly to the door. Stella didn't need further prompting; she ran to his side and tried to match his stride.

"If I knock on his door and find out that he's overslept – he's not going to like me for the next few months," he muttered to Stella as they headed to his car.

* * *

**Chapter Five**

It took them fifteen minutes to beat traffic and get to Danny's apartment. When they got to the 10th floor of the apartment complex, the first thing both noticed were the newspapers piling at his doorstep, uncollected. They gave each other a worried look and quickened their pace.

"Danny?" Mac called when he finally got to the door. He knocked. No answer. He tried the door. It was locked.

"What are you doing?" someone called out suddenly.

A young woman, her blonde hair casually tied up in a pony tail, looked at them suspiciously from the doorway of her apartment, which was next to Danny's.

"Who are you guys?" she asked, frowning.

"We're Detective Messer's colleagues," Stella responded quickly. "Have you seen him leave his apartment today?"

She blinked then shook her head. "No. Actually, not since Saturday night when he came back around ten. Is something wrong?"

"Are you sure you didn't see him leave this morning, Miss-?" Mac interrupted, ignoring her question.

"I'm Shannon. Yeah. Danny's predictable like clockwork. Our walls are thin – I could always hear him movin' around at seven. I thought I heard him moving around at eight today, but …" she trailed off and gave Mac a worried look.

"What is it?" Stella's voice took on an edge.

"I thought I heard something fall," she swallowed. "I-I thought he dropped something. Didn't think much about it."

"Call the super," Mac directed Stella immediately.

"On it," she called back, already running down the corridor.

When they were both alone, Shannon turned to Mac, her eyes now full of anxiety.

"I didn't want to tell him … on Saturday. I mean … we're not that kind of friends and everything."

"What?" he prompted.

"He looked really pale. Like he was coming down with something," she bit her lip and leaned against the wall, her eyes bright with worry. "Maybe I should've said something?"

Mac didn't know what to say.

The super seemed to take ages to come. Harold Mattheu walked quickly down the corridor, keys jangling at his side. His cheeks were pink from the exertion of running to keep up with Stella.

"I hope we're not going to catch him doing something weird," muttered the portly man as he inserted the skeleton key.

Mac caught Shannon rolling her eyes.

Stella, on the other hand, had less patience. "Just open the door," Stella said, annoyed.

When the door was opened, they saw a relatively basic apartment – Danny obviously wasn't into decorating. The only furniture he seemed to have was a dining table, two chairs and a sofa. A couple of posters framed on the wall. A coat was tossed over the sofa while Danny's car keys and glasses were on the table.

Stella shot Mac an anxious look. "He hasn't left," she said, stating the obvious.

Grimly, Mac headed to the kitchen on the right while Stella ran to sole bedroom. Mac felt, rather than saw, Shannon and Harold standing at the doorway as he quickly gave the equally basic kitchenette a once over. Then –

"Mac!" Stella yelled from the bedroom. He ran to the room, pushed the bedroom door open roughly, and saw Stella kneeling beside Danny's crumpled body on the floor. He froze at the sight of Danny on his side, shaking violently as if he was having a seizure.

"Call 911," he yelled, not bothering to see who answered his call. He heard light footsteps running away. Must be Shannon.

As he knelt beside Danny, he heard the super say something about being downstairs to show the paramedics the way.

Danny's face was flushed and sweaty. Fever, Mac realized when he touched Danny's forehead. And from the feel of it, a very high one.

"Danny. Danny, can you hear me?" Mac called. He wasn't sure what to do – whether it was okay to shake him, or whether it'd be prudent not to touch him at all.

To his surprise, Danny's eyes fluttered open. Stella let out a gasp of surprise. She bent low so that he could see her face.

"Danny. Hey, it's Stella. You're going to be okay, you hear?" she said softly as she brushed his hair back from his forehead. Mac took a brief moment to marvel at how Stella could be both steely and motherly at the same time before taking his coat off and laying it over Danny's still-trembling body.

Danny's blue eyes wondered lazily around before settling upon Mac. Then he frowned and whispered, his voice so faint they could barely hear him: "What are you doin' here?"

Mac managed a very weak smile. "Checking up on you," he said softly.

Danny closed his eyes as yet another wave of chills shook his body.

"Hey, you're going to be okay," he said as he carefully placed a hand on Danny's shoulder. He could feel the heat even through the coat.

Danny's eyes opened again. This time, there was confusion in them. "I don't owe you nothin'!" he snapped at Mac, his voice harsh and whispery, his eyes fiery with sudden anger.

Surprised at the sudden fire in Danny's voice, Mac drew back.

Danny then muttered something incoherently and curled into himself, trembling even more violently.

"He's delirious," Stella murmured worriedly, brushing a hand against Danny's sweaty forehead.

"Don't touch me!" Danny snarled. With a sudden burst of strength, Danny lifted himself off the floor and tried to push Stella away with a flailing hand. But he was quickly exhausted and fell back heavily.

Mac managed to catch him before he could fall to the floor. Cradling Danny's head in the crook of his arm, he said: "Don't move, Danny. I've got you," he said. He stole another worried glance at Stella. He could determine the trajectory of a bullet, process DNA, even decipher the meaning behind blood drops … but he didn't know what to do when someone he knew became sick. Especially this sick. And the fact that it was Danny alarmed him to the point of panic. It was only his years of military training that kept that emotion in check.

The chills had abated, but all that activity had left Danny panting heavily. His eyes were unfocused and he was staring sightlessly at nothing. It unnerved Mac.

He gently placed Danny back on the floor and gently rolled him on his back. He could only watch helplessly as Danny's eyes rolled back into his head and he fell limp. Beside him, Stella visibly stiffened.

"They're coming!" yelled Shannon as she ran into the room. Then her eyes wandered to Danny's still form and she went pale. "He's not-"

"No," Mac said shortly. "We've got everything under control," he reassured her, even though he knew it was an outright lie.

But Shannon just ignored him. "Oh, God. It's my fault, isn't it? I should've called him or knocked on his door when I heard that thud. But I thought he was a cop and he could handle himself. I didn't think he'd be sick!" She closed her eyes and began to cry.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Getting Danny down to the lobby was a difficult affair because the apartment building's elevators were too small. In the end, they had to take him down ten flights of stairs via the emergency escape. 

When they got to the lobby, a sizeable crowd had gathered to await their arrival. As if they were some kind of celebrity entourage. The ambulance was waiting just outside the entrance – it must've alerted the residents of an impending drama. Many of the residents just stared with open fascination and whispered among themselves as they carried an unconscious Danny to the ambulance.

As they approached the exit, Stella wondered if they should've been more discreet in handling this. She wondered, briefly, if people could recognize Danny even with the oxygen mask on. Knowing Danny, he probably wouldn't have liked anyone to see him like this.

A look at Mac's strained face as he looked at the spectators around them told her that he was probably thinking the same thing.

Then Mac got into the ambulance – only one of them could go, said the paramedics – and shut the door. Maybe with too much relish. The show was finally over.


	4. Chapter 6 and 7

**Tangled**

**By Wyndhamfan**

**Note: **Finally, my week of working 13-hour days comes to an end! What a pain. So, this is the chapter when I'm rather mean to Danny. Just a little note to tell you that I'm not a doctor, so I may get certain medical facts wrong, though I did do quite a research on it. :P Just remember, it's fiction – hope you like it.

**Chapter Six**

He dreamt that he was back in Tanglewood, and they were having a baseball game at the field near crazy Roger's house.

You learn early, in his neighbourhood, how to recognize one of the boys. One didn't have to spot the tattoo. You just had to watch how they walked: always so confident and with a kind of obnoxious swagger reserved for those who think they're invincible. Then there were the stories, of course, about which boy did what. Usually the "what" was never pleasant to listen to.

Danny learned young to spot one of the Boys. They pretty much left him alone. But when it came to a game of baseball, he was suddenly a star. The Boys were fascinated with his pitching skills, his fast ball, and his ability to throw one mean, curve ball. They treated him like he was one of their own, taking him to the Uncle Jim's for a sundae after each game.

"You know what I think Messer?" said Johnny Copano, the leader of the gang back then.

He'd kept quiet, of course. Thinking was reserved for the big boys.

"I think you're going to put that arm to good use one day. You know, for me and the boys," he laughed.

_"Temp is 105.5 and rising, heartbeat erratic. Breathing still strong … unconscious right now … oxygen administered …dehydrated …"_

The world was shaking. And it was noisy. Some kind of siren. His room didn't have a siren, did it? And he wasn't in California, so it shouldn't be an earthquake, right?

The absurd thoughts were still running through his head when he tentatively opened his eyes.

He couldn't make sense of anything. The world was awash with blurred colours. It was hard to make anything out.

_"Danny?"_

Not like Tanglewood. The neighbourhood had two colours: Brown and grey.

_"Danny. Can you hear me?"_

He shifted his aching head towards the familiar voice. Saw a blurry figure in front of him. Eventually the blurry figure sharpened somewhat, and a face swam into focus.

He realized that it was Mac Taylor he was staring at. And he looked worried. No, anxious. Like that time when he heard that the Towers were burning. It was an awful sight to see. Mac was always a tower of strength. Until that day.

"Danny. Can you hear me?" Mac said again as he leaned forward. Danny felt someone squeeze his hand. It felt weird. Like he was detached somehow, and that sensation belonged to someone else.

This time, he decided to make an effort to say something. "Mac," he whispered. It surprised him how awfully weak he sounded. He realized then that there was something on his face. He wrestled an arm free from the blankets to remove it from his face.

Mac stopped him by gripping that hand and gently placing it back at his side.

"You need that on, Danny," he said gently.

He frowned and struggled to get the words out from his parched throat: "Where …" he began, but found he was too tired to continue.

The world was shaking again … or maybe he was … he realized then that he was having a difficult time trying to keep still. Where was he? Why was Mac in this place? He couldn't remember anything beyond falling asleep last night. He remembered feeling anxious about the meeting with Hillborn and then …

His head ached as he tried to remember.

"You're in an ambulance, and we're taking you to the hospital," Mac explained, his voice calm as always. Only his dark eyes betrayed his anxiety. He paused, then added: "You're going to be fine."

"No, I'm not," he whispered. He knew that with a certainty. If he couldn't remember anything else that had happened to him and how he'd ended up in this place, he remembered one thing: he was not going to be fine. He couldn't make out the details why, but he knew that Mac shouldn't coddle him with half-truths when he knew what's the real deal. He wasn't going to be fine. Ever.

Mac opened his mouth to protest, but Danny only shook his head. "They're never going to let me go, you know," he whispered hoarsely.

Mac frowned. "Who are you talking about?"

"It doesn't matter … he shuddered as he shook from the cold again. "… they won't forget," he whispered harshly. He began to pant as his heart began to speed up. Then he turned his glazed eyes to Mac.

"Sorry he got away," Danny muttered.

For a second, Mac gave Danny a bewildered look, wondering what he meant.

"Danny," he began.

Danny whispered something unintelligibly, then he winced as a cough ripped through his chest.

"Don't talk anymore, Danny," Mac said, watching helplessly as Danny coughed. He gave the paramedic a concerned look, which he returned briefly before putting on a stethoscope. He gave Danny's chest a listen and shook his head.

"What?" Mac asked, his worry intensifying.

"Breathing's getting laboured," said the paramedic.

"Do you know what's wrong with him? Is it pneumonia?"

"Can't say for sure. Symptoms like these – it can be a lot of things. But one thing I'm sure: we should let him rest," the paramedic reminded him as he adjusted Danny's IV.

He nodded without removing his eyes from Danny's anxious ones. Tentatively, he reached out to grasp Danny's feverish hand again.

"We'll talk about it when you're better, okay?"

Danny didn't respond. Instead, he stared at Mac suspiciously and then yanked his hand away from his grip.

"I don't owe nothin' to thieves," he hissed.

XXXXX

By the time they opened the ambulance doors Danny was unconscious again. Mac got out quickly, and watched furtively as they moved the stretcher with Danny on it to the emergency room. Danny by then had stopped his godawful shaking, and was still. Too still.

Mac could only follow in mute silence as they placed him on the gurney and wheeled him deep inside, until a doctor came towards him and told him that that was the furthest he'd go.

As he stared at the retreating figures, he felt someone standing beside him. Stella.

She didn't say anything. What is there to say?

"He's going to be fine," he said mechanically, his eyes still on the retreating figures.

A pause, then, "Yeah," said Stella flatly.

A woman in a doctor's white lab coat walked quickly towards them and informed them that they had to wait for a long while.

"We'll wait," Stella said quickly. Mac merely nodded.

Surprisingly, they didn't have to wait that long. About half an hour later, the same doctor ran towards them. They both stood up quickly.

"Do you know the emergency contact – one Mac Taylor?" she asked, a little breathless.

Mac tried to push away the sudden stab of fear he felt. "That's me," he replied and stepped forward.

"I'm Dr Janelle Wilson," she said and shook his hand brusquely, and then Stella's. "Okay, we've managed to stabilize his temperature, but it's still very high – at 105. I've placed him on antipyretics to bring it down. We're performing blood tests on him soon to determine the cause of his fever."

"Do you know what he has?" Stella asked.

"Not conclusively until the blood test. His condition is serious, but thankfully he came in when he did. On top of the fever, he's badly dehydrated. Do you know how long he's been like this?"

Mac and Stella exchanged glances. They've not seen him for two days.

"He seemed fine to me when I saw him on Saturday, be he did seem a little pale," Mac sighed at that. He thought Danny was a little 'off', but he had attributed it to nervousness ... at talking to him about the psych eval.

"When he didn't show up for work today, we found him in his apartment …. like this … about 10am. But a neighbour said that he looked unwell since Saturday," Mac continued.

"Danny's the type to shrug off colds. Or pretend that he didn't have one. Maybe this one he couldn't shrug off," Stella said. She couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for not being more observant about his condition. To be honest, Aiden was the best person to answer Dr Wilson's questions. The two were close. Stella barely interacted with him, a fact she realized with regret.

"I see. It looks like a sudden onset of high fever," murmured Wilson.

"Which means?" Mac asked.

"Unfortunately, many things. These things can be hard to diagnose, but we have a specialist, Dr Ferell, coming down from Jersey right now."

"Dr Wilson, he's going to be all right, isn't he? I mean, he's not in any danger, is he?" Stella interrupted; her voice was tight with worry.

Wilson gave them a guarded look and shook her head apologetically. "I can't promise you anything, I'm sorry," she said.

The remark sent another stab of fear into Mac.

"Are you saying that he could die?" Mac asked in a low voice.

"What I'm saying is that I can't formulate a firm answer when I don't know what's causing the fever. The blood test will take some time to get in. I suggest you return home. We'll keep you updated. Sorry, but I have to return to the ER now," she said.

Wilson did not wait for them to reply to march her way back to the ER.

"Oh God," Stella murmured, running a hand wearily through her hair. She could still feel the adrenaline thrumming inside her; she wanted to do something, anything, but this waiting was making her crazy.

"You okay?" Mac asked.

"How about you?" she countered, her eyes on Mac's strained expression.

Mac merely sighed. "Anything but okay," he replied shortly.

Then he frowned, and felt for something in his coat pocked. He took out his beeper and sighed again.

"What?" Stella asked with a frown – whatever it was, Mac didn't look too pleased with the message on the beeper.

"Body on 5th Avenue," he answered briefly.

A pause, then: "Murder goes on," Stella replied sardonically.

****

**Chapter Seven**

It was hot.

Too goddamned hot.

Danny moved restlessly in his bed, trying to find a cooler spot – he felt as if he was lying on something that was heating him up – but he found that his arm snagged on something. The pain was sharp and sudden enough to wake him up.

He blinked owlishly – saw blurry figures around him. Who were they? He thought in panic. Where was he?

Confused, he tried to sit up, only to have someone push him down. He pushed the hand away in alarm and tried to get up again. More hands restrained him this time and he began to struggle against them with his feeble strength.

"Maybe we should restrain him?" a voice asked.

He didn't hear the answer. He struggled harder, but almost immediately felt his strength disappear. He slumped back to the bed helplessly as the misty shapes took his hands and positioned it at his sides.

"What are you doing?" he rasped when he felt something thick and leathery being tied around his hands. He tried to jerk his hands away from it, but found that he couldn't.

"Let me go!" he yelled and then tried to sit up.

Someone pushed him down again.

"No," he moaned, shaking his head in denial and frustration. "Get away from me!" he hissed.

"Mr Messer," a woman called. He tried to focus on the direction of her voice. One of the misty shapes bent close to him, and eventually a young woman in her thirties in a doctor's coat came to focus. She looked intently at him and said: "Don't move, Mr Messer. You're safe; no one's going to harm you."

"Then why are you tying me up?" he demanded, struggling with his bonds.

"It's for your own good. You have a very high fever and we need to bring it down, and we need you to stay still and not struggle. I'll remove the bonds if you agree to do this, can you understand me?"

Danny bit his lip when his stomach churned with nausea. He managed a weak nod.

He felt them untying the straps around his wrists and fell back to the pillows in relief as he continued to stare warily at the woman.

"Mr Messer, we're taking a blood sample from you now. It'll twinge a little," said the doctor.

He felt something poke him in the arm. He winced, but was too weak to protest, let alone fight back.

The doctor brushed his hair back from his forehead and stared into his eyes. He found it unnerving, so looked away

"What's his temp?" asked the doctor.

"105. Doesn't seem to be coming down much."

He supposed that was not exactly good news because the doctor shook her head. Then, someone opened his eyes and shone a stab of light into his eyes. It instantly sent a bolt of pain ripping through his skull.

He cried out in pain and looked away. "It hurts," he rasped angrily. "Stop shinin' it …" He clenched his eyes shut tightly; if they want to shine that thing again in his eyes, he's going to make sure they were going to fight him to do it.

"Sensitivity to light," the doctor droned like it was a bit of fascinating trivia. She then said something to him, but by then he was too tired to concentrate. He let the world fade away. He could vaguely hear them fussing around him. Like distant, phantom voices.

Then, the brief peace he enjoyed was disrupted when he felt hands on him again, and like before, he was too weak to stop them. He groaned when icy fingers touched the feverish skin around his neck. They gently turned his head left, then to the right, like he was some kind of puppet they wanted to play with. And then someone removed his blanket, and began taking off the light hospital gown he wore. That was the last straw.

"Stop it," he snapped. He pushed the hand on his wrist away weakly.

The icy hand returned to gently place his hand back to his side.

"It'll be over soon, Mr Messer," said someone; this time it was a man.

So, the invasion of his personal space continued in earnest. They were obviously looking for something. Though he couldn't, in his befuddled mind, figure out what.

He moaned when they turned him to his side. The icy hands were now behind his legs poking and prodding. It sent his feverish imagination into overdrive and his heart raced from the anxiety. But thankfully, like they promised, it was over quickly. Though they lingered a bit on a spot behind his knee. He earnestly hoped that they found what they were looking for because he really needed to sleep now.

Gentle hands turned him back to his back, smoothed out his hospital gown and adjusted his blankets.

Gratefully, he drifted in a half-doze and eventually the hum of activity around him went quiet … until a deep voice penetrated his dim consciousness. It jolted him awake.

He opened his eyes slowly. A bland ceiling greeted him … he vaguely realized that he must've been moved because he didn't remember the room looking like this – all blue and … peaceful. The other room was white, stark … frantic. And it was quieter here – except for the irritating beeping in the distance.

The voice said something again.

He frowned.

"What?" he rasped in response.

"This is important, Mr Messer. Were you recently bitten by a tick?" asked the voice in a thick English accent.

It was a different person. A man. And the question stumped him for a while. What kind of question was that? Maybe he was still out of his head … like when Mac was in the ambulance, and he'd a hard time trying to focus.

"Mr Messer?"

The man was serious. He wanted an answer.

"Tick … no ticks. I don't live … in a forest," he slurred. He heard a chuckle, then:

"A sense of humour is always a good sign," said the voice. Danny wanted to tell the man that he wasn't being funny. It was just the truth. But the thought of talking that much tired him.

A blurry shape came to his line of vision. Eventually it sharpened and took on the features of a man in his fifties with bushy eyebrows. The man frowned heavily as he scribbled something in his pad.

Another figure walked to his side. The female doctor who had treated him in what he presumed was the emergency room.

"It certainly looks like a bite. Behind his knee. No rashes, though," he muttered to the woman. "How long did you say he's had symptoms?"

"His friends noticed that he'd been having cold symptoms for a week," said a female voice.

"Should've had some rashes if it's what I think it is…. Still, 10 of patients may never manifest the rashes."

Danny was too tired to keep his eyes open, so he closed them. But he could still hear them talking. He wished they could stop … he couldn't sleep when people are talking so loudly.

"The blood test, the bite … I think I'm certain now. You've started him on doxycycline?"

"Yes, as a precautionary measure," she replied.

"Good. How's his temp?"

"Stabilized. Though it's still 105," returned the other doctor.

He didn't seem very pleased with the answer, judging from the long silence. "The doxycycline should foster some kind of improvement. If not, we're back to square one," he finally said, his voice grave.

"Rocky …." Danny muttered, realizing something.

He opened his eyes and saw the male doctor – already quickly becoming a blotch once more – turning back towards him.

"What is it, Mr Messer?" he asked gently.

But he was so tired again … and as his eyes slid close, he could only mutter: "Dogs … dogs have ticks … don't they?"


	5. Chapter 8 and 9

**Tangled**

**By Wyndhamfan**

**Disclaimers in Part 1**

**Chapter Eight**

Aiden Burn was not pleased when Danny didn't show up at the lab in time for them to leave together for the crime scene. She hoped that he got her messages – including the one where she said that he owed her a big one for covering for him so that Mac wouldn't find out and then kick his butt for being late.

Flack raised an eyebrow at her when she grumpily snapped back the crime scene tape to get to the corpse.

"Danny not here yet?"

"Stood me up," she grumbled.

"Pretty weird, right? He's always on time."

"That's what _you _see. Half the time I have to wait for the man. I swear, he's worse than my sister when she hogs the only bathroom in our house in the morning when we were kids."

Flack grinned at the image. "I'll be sure to tell him that."

"Make sure you do," she said as she knelt beside the corpse.

"You're starting without him?" Flack wondered out loud.

"Just takin' pictures right now. Unlike me, decomposing bodies wait for no man," she said with a grin. At that, she began snapping photos of the vic, a man in his thirties lying on the pavement, his head no longer intact but in several pieces on the ground. Aiden looked up at the twenty-storey apartment complex, immediately wondering if this was a jumper.

"Hey!" someone called. Surprised, Aiden looked up to see Dr Hawkes walking quickly towards them. Strangely, his usually sunny expression was soured by a heavy frown.

"Somethin' wrong?" she asked instantly, immediately concerned. Especially when he sighed and pursed his lips. She's never seen him this worried before.

"Got word from Mac on the way here. Danny's in the hospital," he said grimly.

"What?" Aiden cried out in surprise, nearly dropping the camera.

"How?" Flack said at the same time, his eyes wide with shock.

"Nobody knows yet, but from what Mac could piece together for me – he's sick, suffering from an unusually high fever. Off his head. Could mean many things, but one thing for sure – there's a serious infection," Hawkes said as he walked over to the corpse.

"Mac told me that Burke will assist you today," he said as he knelt beside the corpse.

Sure enough, CSI Janice Burke appeared behind Hawkes carrying her kit. Part of Eric Daniston's team, Aiden hardly ever saw here because their routes barely intersected. Daniston's team usually worked the graveyard hours.

"Hey, I heard about Messer. Real sorry," she said, grimacing. When she saw Aiden's distracted look, she asked seriously: "Are you up for this, or should I call Kimball to take over?"

Dave Kimball was Burke's partner.

Aiden was almost tempted, but shook her head and readied the camera. "Let's get this over with," she muttered.

"We're in luck, by the way," Hawkes said as he took the corpse's liver temp. "Mac and Stella are just a block away. Maybe you can pop over there after this."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was difficult to detach themselves from what had happened in the morning and to return to work. But Mac and Stella didn't have that liberty to dwell, and poured themselves into their latest case: A homeless man found dead on the sidewalk with a knife in his gut.

A quick survey of the evidence convinced the two that the stabbing happened post-mortem. Although there were no obvious signs of death, and the ME's decision was not final yet, Stella and Mac suspected the man had died of natural causes. Someone had thought it would be fun to stick a knife in a corpse.

"Sick," Stella muttered as she closed her kit. If it was a misdemeanor, it'll be shuffled off their roster.

Mac paused while taking off his gloves, a small smile on his face.

Stella lifted an eyebrow and gave him a small smile of her own.

"I was just thinking that if it had been Danny conducting this case, he'd probably make a point to chase down the perp who did this, misdemeanor or not." he mused. His expression darkened slightly when he remembered the confrontation they had over the case of the homeless man dressed up as a statue. He didn't understand then why Danny had to go against his orders like that. It goes to show that Danny sometimes cared for something more than he should. Admirable for a man … just not good for a CSI.

"Hey!" someone called out, snapping him out of his morose thoughts.

It was Flack, and by his side was Aiden. As they ran towards them, Mac could see that both looked anxious. No doubt Hawkes had told them the news.

"Got any word on Danny?" Aiden asked immediately when she was within hearing distance. Her face was pale and her hair carelessly tied up. It was obvious that she'd rushed from a scene. She was still holding her kit.

"When we left he was being wheeled into the emergency room. They didn't let us go in any further," Stella said. "Then we got the call for this guy." Stella gestured towards the corpse, now being wheeled off by the MEs.

Aiden merely cast the scene a quick, distracted look. "But he's going to be okay, right?"

"I mean, he was fine on Saturday. He can't be that sick," Flack sounded as if he was trying to convince himself.

"When we left, his fever was at 105, and they were putting him on a series of drugs to bring it down, and a blood test was being done on him," Mac told them levelly. Aiden closed her eyes as the news sunk in. Flack gently squeezed her shoulder.

Then, Mac's cell rang. Everyone waited anxiously as Mac spoke on the cell – from Mac's worried expression, it was obvious that it was the hospital calling.

"Is he awake yet?" Mac frowned at the answer and rubbed his forehead with his hand. "Can we come by and see him?" Another frown. A long while, until Mac said: "Okay. Please inform me of any progress. Thanks." He put aside the cell then met their eyes.

"Danny's still unconscious. But they've managed to stabilize his temperature. Told me not to worry," he gave them a cynical smile at that. "And … the best thing we can do now is to let Danny rest and let them do their jobs."

Flack nodded stiffly while Aiden hissed in frustration.

"Damn it, I called him on Sunday and he didn't pick up! I should've gone and seen him!" she said.

"No use playing what ifs, Aiden. Danny's in good hands, now," Mac reassured them all. "He'll be fine."

Stella shot him a guarded look. Mac frowned. He _had _to be fine.

XXXXXXXX

It was maddening not being able to see Danny immediately. Aiden had to make sure that the evidence was properly stored and analysed, but she kept getting tripped up by difficulty after difficulty which delayed her efforts. She was nearly crying from frustration from the holdup when Burke suddenly laid a gentle hand on hers and said, "You know what? I can take it from here. Go see him."

Burke then gave her a smile and made a shooing motion. Aiden thought she could hug her right then if she hadn't been in such a hurry to leave. She almost tore off the lab coat in her haste, and rushed out while struggling to put on her leather coat.

"Thought you were comin'," Flack said as he suddenly stepped into her path.

"What are you still doin' here?" she wondered. Managed to get into the coat, finally.

"Thought you'd need a fast driver," Flack answered. "Well, if you must know. Got to process a perp. Thought it'd never end."

"I know the feelin'," she said dryly as she rushed out the door.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Mac was surprised to see Hawkes beat him to the hospital. There he was speaking to a doctor in his fifties in the corridor leading to the ICU; he occasionally nodded or shook his head.

"Doctor Ferell?" Mac called out, hoping that this was the doctor who had called him earlier.

The two doctors turned to look at him. The older one smiled slightly. "Detective Mac Taylor?" he asked.

He merely nodded.

"I was just telling Dr Hawkes here about Detective Messer's condition," said Ferell.

Mac was about to tell Ferell to just get on with it when they were interrupted by Aiden and Flack who were running towards them.

When they finally reached their side, both looked sheepish – as if they were kids who had interrupted the adults amidst a serious conversation.

Dr Liam Ferell merely looked amused at the entourage of people around him.

"Like I was saying, I suspect that Detective Messer had the unfortunate luck of contracting Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever," declared Dr Liam Ferell, in his clipped, British accent.

Mac, Aiden and Flack had given the doctor a blank.

"You 'suspect'?" Mac asked with a frown.

"In cases like these, there's always a degree of uncertainty. This disease is particularly hard to diagnose in the earlier stages – especially since Mr Messer has not manifested the rashes that comes with this disease. But, judging from the blood tests, the tick bite, and the other symptoms, we do believe it _is_ Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever. If he doesn't respond to the doxycycline ... then we're wrong."

Unlike the rest, Hawkes obviously knew what the disease was.

"Did you spot the tick?" Hawkes asked. Aiden gave him a puzzled look.

"No, but we did see an inflammation at the back of his right leg, somewhere beneath his knee. And what looked like a bite mark. I don't think Detective Messer was even aware the tick was there," said Dr Ferell.

"Wait, you sayin' that a tick did this?" Flack asked incredulously.

"Well. Actually, it's the _R. rickettsii_ the tick was carrying that was responsible. I would say that he's had symptoms for quite a while for it to progress to such a serious state. Flu-like symptoms would have started about roughly a week ago or slightly more," he answered.

Flack let out a curse. "He's been havin' that 'cold' for days."

Aiden gave Flack a knowing look. "Told him to see a doctor."

"Not that he'd listen," Flack answered for her. Aiden sighed in response.

"He mentioned having contact with a dog. I think he must have picked up the tick then," Dr Ferell continued.

"He was awake?" Aiden asked, visibly relieved.

"For a while. Of course, at that time he was running a 105-degree fever. He didn't stay coherent for very long."

"But he's going to be okay, right?" Aiden asked anxiously.

"He's comfortable, and resting well," Dr Ferell quickly reassured them. He then gave Mac a serious look. "It is good that you found him when you did. Any longer than that … and he might have suffered from further complications. The delirium was complicating enough. Now that he's on antibiotics we could tackle the problem before it gets more serious."

"Can we see him?" Aiden quickly asked.

"Sure. But two at a time," Ferell gestured for Aiden and Flack to follow him. Mac and Hawkes watched as the two followed the doctor.

"I'd have to head back to the morgue," said Hawkes when the trio disappeared from sight. "Have a few bodies to process. And maybe grab a sandwich while I'm at it. Had to sacrifice my dinner hour to get here."

As Hawkes walked away, Mac gave him an incredulous look. It wouldn't be unusual for most people to eat and work at the same time, but for people who did Hawkes' job …

He then saw Stella emerge from the corridor. She exchanged a few words with Hawkes before walking towards him.

"You okay?" she asked when she got to his side. It never ceased to amaze Mac how annoyingly perceptive she was.

He decided not to play dumb and just tell her the truth.

"Danny scared the hell out of me today," he said flatly. He wasn't sure if he was mad, annoyed or scared. Maybe all at once.

"Yeah," she sighed heavily. "He scared me too. Never seen anyone that sick," her eyes grew dark as she remembered. "Actually thought he died when he passed out in his bedroom."

"You know what bothered me throughout the whole thing?" he asked abruptly.

Stella just waited.

"That Danny would die thinking that I was disappointed in him."

Stella just gave him a knowing nod: "Well. You can fix that now." Stella studied him, and realized that this was a time that Mac wanted to be alone and reflect, so she gave him an understanding smile and gestured towards the ICU area.

"I'm going to see how Danny is doing. See you later?"

He nodded.

Mac closed his eyes after she left and leaned on the wall, resting his head against it. He stared at the ceiling, feeling like such a liar.

The tragic thing was … he _had_ been disappointed with Danny.

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

Flack could feel Aiden go still when they stepped into Danny's room. Heck, he found it hard to not react at all when he saw Danny asleep in his bed.

At least, that's what Dr Ferell said he was doing.

Truth was, Danny looked as if he was in the middle of a bad dream. His hair was soaked with sweat, and his breathing was erratic. He hoped that the nasal cannula was helping some, because it hurt just to see him struggling like this.

Occasionally, he would mutter something unintelligible, then resume his restless sleep.

Aiden tentatively walked to Danny's side and looked uncertainly at Dr Ferell.

"Can I touch him?" she asked softly.

The doctor looked uncertain for a moment, then seeing how worried she looked, nodded. "Be careful not to wake him," he whispered to her.

Aiden nodded and tentatively reached out to touch Danny's hand. Flack didn't know if he could've done it in her place. Danny was so pale he looked as if he would break if he were touched. All he could do was put his arm around Aiden and give her a reassuring hug.

Danny, thankfully, didn't awake at the touch. It almost seemed as if he was soothed by it; his restless movements had ceased a little, and he appeared to drift off to sleep.

"I'm sorry, detectives," Dr Ferell said after a few minutes of them just watching Danny sleep. "I'm afraid that Det Messer has to rest now."

Aiden just nodded, turned around to give Danny's hand another light squeeze, and walked slowly out of the room with Flack.

When they were outside, she sniffed and quickly wiped her teary eyes with a hand.

"Hey, you okay, Aiden?" Flack asked with concern.

"Yeah," she smiled through the tears and then sniffed. "Just shook me up, y'know, seeing him like that. I mean, I was never good with sick people. It always tore me up."

"Hey," Flack said as he gently squeezed her shoulders and gently nudged her chin up. "He's goin' to be fine."

"You sound so sure," Aiden said, making it sound like an accusation.

"Well, you heard the doctor."

"Y'mean the part where he said he wasn't sure whether Danny had this Rocky Mountain thing?"

"No, the part where he said he should be fine."

Aiden sighed then gave him a sheepish half-grin. "Yeah... I guess I shouldn't be so pessimistic."

"You're just worried," Flack said. They had resumed walking away from Danny's room. It wasn't easy. A part of him wanted to stay in the room and ... well, beat the crap out of the bacteria that was doing this to Danny, if it was possible.

"I know a hundred ways how a man can be sick like that and I was running that through my head when I looked at him. Sometimes CSI training sucks," Aiden muttered.

"How is he doing?" Stella came towards them with Mac behind her.

"He's sleepin'. Doctor said we should let him rest," Flack said, but he knew that his frown spoiled the comfort he was trying to give.

Stella gave them a wan smile and was about to say something when she was interrupted by a loud crash.

Flack, thanks to his years of training in the force, reacted instantly. He turned and ran towards the sound.

"It's comin' from Danny's room!" he heard Aiden cry out. But by then he was already inside the room ... and staring at Danny sitting in a corner beside his bed, with his knees to his chest and a confused look on his face.

He quickly noticed other details - the dripping IV line. The IV stand on the floor. Drops of blood leading towards where Danny was.

Flack holstered his weapon and knelt by Danny's side.

"Hey, you okay?" he asked as he checked Danny's IV arm. _God, Danny's burning up, _he thought distractedly as he examined the bleeding wound. His skin was burning hot.

Danny tore his arm away from his grasp. One quick look into Danny's eyes told Flack that he didn't recognise him.

"I told him I was sorry. But he didn't listen. He kept staring at me," Danny said. His voice was whispery but it didn't hide the desperation behind it.

"Who?"

"Menhaus ..." Danny said tiredly.

"Danny ... Menhaus is dead," Flack said softly, his mind instantly flashing to the memory of Menhaus' body lying at the subway station and Danny's look of anguish when the uniformed police officer fished out the badge from beneath Menhaus' coat.

Danny's face collapsed in grief. "I know. God, I killed a cop," he whispered, his eyes staring dazedly at Flack.

Flack pursed his lips. The whole incident was more than two weeks ago, and it was obviously still on the man's mind – first nail in the coffin about his suspicions that Danny was still affected by it, despite his 'I'm fine' front.

Suddenly, Flack heard footsteps behind him. He heard Aiden gasp and Mac calling for a doctor. Danny shot a look over Flack's shoulder and froze.

"It's okay. They're here to help you. Come on, why don't we get you back to bed." Flack placed an arm around Danny's shoulders and hauled him up. He ended up bearing most of Danny's weight – Danny had obviously spent most of his energy stumbling out of bed. He listed towards Flack and swayed alarmingly. Flack grunted, realising that he couldn't really take all of Danny's weight. Thankfully, Mac instantly appeared by his side and took up the slack.

"Mac doesn't trust me anymore," Danny rambled as they stumbled towards his bed. "I don't really blame him," he slurred.

Mac frowned at Danny – who, of course, didn't notice. Flack was too busy trying to make sure Danny stayed upright to care.

"What's going on here?" he heard Dr Ferell demand from somewhere.

By then, Mac and Flack had managed to lay Danny clumsily in bed. Once in bed, Danny curled up on his side and muttered: "You fired wild, Danny."

Mac frowned deeply when Danny said that. It was the words Mac had said to him more than two weeks ago.

Dr Ferell pushed him aside to be by Danny's side. He checked his pulse, pupils and then told Stella to get a nurse.

"I'm afraid you must all leave now," he said brusquely, his attention still on Danny. He had placed his stethoscope on and was listening to his patient's breathing. Danny, by then had drifted off to unconsciousness.

Aiden blinked away misty eyes and nodded, not that Ferell would notice because he was still engrossed with Danny ... but Flack placed an arm around her and led her out.

"Come on," Stella whispered to Mac, who was still staring at the activity around Danny's bed.

He followed her out reluctantly.

XXXXXXXXXXX

For a while, there was a kind of peace. Although he was aware that he was unbearably hot, achy and nauseous at the same time, the quiet and the cocooning darkness which surrounded him gave him some measure of calm.

He didn't know when the darkness faded. All he knew was that he was suddenly back in the subway, staring at Menhaus' body.

He saw the uniform fish out the badge and throw him an accusing glare. "He shot one of us," the man growled.

Danny shook his head. Usually he'd react in anger, with fists or harsh words – but he couldn't find the strength to go against the man's anger at that moment. The man was right: he did shoot one of their own.

"You fired wild, Danny," said Mac.

Danny looked up from Menhaus' sprawled body and saw Mac looking at him accusingly.

"What aren't you telling me, Danny?" Mac asked, his voice hard. "You wanted to kill the cop, didn't you?"

His blood froze at the accusation. "How can you say that? You know I'm no cop killer!"

"But your family – they are cop killers, aren't they?" Mac asked, his lips curving into a sardonic smile. "You became one too. It's in your blood after all."

He had to get out of here. Danny ran sluggishly up the stairs, out of the subway. However, instead of the streets above, he was in the morgue, and Hawkes was working on Menhaus.

"You shot him twice," Hawkes said in fascination as he probed the corpse's insides. "Don't you think that's a bit of an overkill?" asked Hawkes, raising an eyebrow.

Danny's eyes flew open. Where was he? It was dark … and quiet, except for the strange hum of distant voices around him.

Disoriented, Danny sat up shakily, still trying to slow down his gasping breaths. The effort of sitting made him breathless. He had to grip the rails at the side of his bed to stay up.

Then he saw it.

It was Menhaus. He was sitting in a chair next to his bed, and he was looking right at him.

"You're not real," he muttered.

Menhaus diddn't answer. Danny stared at the weeping gut wound and the shoulder wound.

"I didn't know you were a cop," he said breathlessly. "I'm sorry."

Menhaus continued to stare.

"Stop staring at me," he whispered.

Suddenly, Menhaus was not in the chair anymore. He was standing right next to his bed.

"Get away from me!" Danny cried out. The rail made it difficult, but so great was his panic that he found sudden strength to maneuver around it and end up on the floor. The sharp cold of the floor startled him, and his sudden burst of strength left him no choice but to slide down clumsily to a sitting position in a corner beside the bed.

He looked up, expecting Menhaus to be right next to him by now …

Only he wasn't there.

"Hey, you okay?"

The new voice startled him. And he found himself staring at a man that looked vaguely familiar. How did he get here? He didn't see him just now.

The stranger grabbed his hand and although he was gentle while inspecting him, Danny found the contact unnerving. Not to mention the fact that the man had fingers made out of ice. He tore his arm away from the man's grip.

"I told him I was sorry. But he didn't listen. He kept staring at me," Danny explained, hoping the man would understand why he's on the floor like this.

"Who?"

"Menhaus ..." Danny said, feeling really tired suddenly. It seemed as if he had been caught in his mazelike dream for so long. All he wanted to do was sleep, but the dreams won't let him.

"Danny ... Menhaus is dead," the man said.

Danny didn't know how the man knew, but the reminder of what he did sent him reeling. "I know. God, I killed a cop," he whispered. He would've cried if not for the terrible tiredness he felt. He just wanted everything to go away and return back to that peaceful darkness. He didn't want this anymore.

After that, things were a blur. He remembered being hoisted to his feet, being dizzy, then feeling grateful that he was in bed again.

He heard concerned voices around him; the doctor with the English accent was back, and he didn't look pleased. Danny hoped that it wasn't because of what he did … maybe he should explain, tell him about Menhaus … but by then he was already fading, finally retreating to that peaceful, dark place.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The four of them walked to the parking lot in complete silence, all still shaken up by what they had seen.

When Mac suddenly stopped walking, Stella cast him a bewildered look.

"I think I'll wait," he said. He motioned to Flack to keep on walking with Aiden to the car while Stella stayed by his side.

"What do you mean, wait? You heard the doctor. Danny's not up for any visitors right now," said Stella.

He shrugged and allowed himself to look sheepish. "I'd feel better if I spoke to the doctor a bit."

"Mac. If this is because of what Danny said just now-"

"It's plaguing him, Stella. What I said to him."

"Don't, Mac. You did what you had to do. And ... Danny knows that, I'm sure. Anyway, he's delirious right now and most probably won't even remember saying it."

"Doesn't mean he doesn't feel this way."

"What? That you don't trust him?"

He nodded.

"Well, do you? Trust him?"

He paused then nodded, "Yeah. Despite what he did … I still do."

"Then have that talk with him after he's recovered. Now, you need to go home and rest yourself."


	6. Chapter 10 and 11

**Tangled**

By Wyndhamfan

Note: Thanks everyone for your kind reviews! J Disclaimers in part 1 …

**Chapter Ten**

It has been a trying 48 hours. Between finding Danny sick, to the subsequent rush to the hospital, and then worrying about him while they processed evidence from a few murders, Mac was surprised he wasn't as strung out from the emotional rollercoaster as he'd thought he would be.

"His fever has come down to 104," said Dr Ferell as they walked to Danny's room in the ICU. "He's showing signs of improvement, thanks to the antibiotics. A very good sign."

"Has he been awake?"

"Off an on, but never too long. He'll be spending the next few days asleep more than awake. We had to sedate him thanks to yesterday's episode to help him rest."

"Any more ... 'episodes'?"

Dr Ferell shook his head and flashed him a rueful smile at that. "Thankfully, no. The sedatives helped significantly."

When they got to Danny's room Ferell reminded him that he should stay no longer than ten minutes and left him alone.

He entered the room, his eyes immediately drawn to Danny's wan features, the IV lines he was connected to, and the heartbeat monitor which beeped steadily but slowly. He then sighed and sank into the uncomfortable chair beside Danny's bed.

Danny was sleeping the kind of sleep one had when one's exhausted from sickness or injury. He still looked like hell, but he actually looked better than he did in the ambulance yesterday. He no longer shook from the chills, for one – that's a good sign in his book. And it was something Mac didn't ever want to see again.

"What am I going to do with you, Danny?" he muttered into the silence of the room.

Coming so close to losing him like that had made him realize that as unpredictable and unreliable Danny had become, he was still an important member of his team. He had thought about biding his time with Danny, coaxing him into the right direction. Both efforts had blown up in his face a couple of times, and to be frank, he thought he was at the end of the road when it came to Danny after the shooting incident a few weeks ago.

He had been so disappointed to remove Danny from the promotion grid. He had such potential. If only …

Great. He was thinking lousy thoughts again. Not exactly the right time with Danny lying in bed seriously ill.

Suddenly, Danny shifted in the bed. He made a small sound of discomfort as he shifted to his side. As he moved to his side, he cradled the arm with the IV protectively. In his efforts, Danny's thin blanket had almost slipped completely away.

Mac got up and gently adjusted the blankets. Danny did not stir.

But he was certainly awake.

Mac looked cautiously into Danny's half-open eyes. He couldn't tell if the man was lucid or not. He wondered if it was still the delirium talking when Danny said weakly: "Hi."

"Hi," he replied uncertainly.

Danny sighed and shifted a little again. He blinked and whispered hoarsely: "This is not my bedroom."

"No," Mac answered shortly. Then he gave Danny a small smile.

"I thought … I'd die in there," he said, gazing at him dazedly. "And that you'd find me weeks later … or something. I hate the thought of me … rotting alone."

Mac still wasn't sure if Danny was lucid or not, but he answered him anyway.

"You think we'd forget you like that? Especially with you missing Hillborn's meeting?"

Danny winced at that. "Oh no … I missed it …" his voice was growing fainter.

"Don't worry about it. I've taken care of it."

"Hillborn pissed?"

Mac paused, wondering whether he should say the truth. Then he nodded, and said: "Yeah."

Danny gave him a faint smile. "Good," he whispered. Mac was glad to see the smile, even if it was a pale shadow of his usual grins.

Danny fell silent after that, studying a spot beside Mac intently. Mac wondered if Danny's mind had wandered off again … until Danny shifted his eyes back to Mac's.

"You found me?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "You were … out of it. But we got you here in time. Dr Ferell says you're going to be just fine."

"For now," Danny muttered.

Mac frowned. He wished he knew exactly what Danny meant with that – even back in the ambulance, Danny seemed sure that something was going to happen. He found his ex-partner's words of caution returning to haunt him again. _… your secrets don't put others in danger, does it? _Like it or not, this wasn't the time to grill Danny about his vague statement. For all he knew, it was Danny's insecurities surfacing because of his delirium.

Not that he had any time to do so anyway. Danny had already drifted off to sleep.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

_"Where have you been?"_

_Danny was so close to escaping unnoticed, but his dad had been waiting for him in the living room, his figure hidden in the shadows. He looked at his father and shuffled his feet. "Out," he said curtly, managing to dredge up some bravado._

_"Are you being smart, Danny?"_

_He scowled the way teenagers can only do. "I dunno, Pop. You tell me."_

_Eric Messer, who had spent almost all his life working in the docks, grabbed his son's arm hard and snapped: "Don't you be smart with me, Danny. I know where you've been. Donny said you were with that Copano kid. How many times am I gonna tell you to stay the hell away from the Tanglewood Boys?"_

_He shrugged his arm out of his father's steel-like grip. "I'm not joinin' the Boys if that's what you're thinkin'," he snapped. _

_"You better not," his father growled. Then his face softened to a strange desperation Danny hadn't seen before. It startled him enough to stop him from walking away._

_"Danny. **You** don't have to stay here like the rest of us. You're a smart kid, and your future's not here, not with Copano. You're better than that!"_

_Danny couldn't help but let out a bitter laugh. "Yeah? Like what am I going to do? Go to college or something?"_

_"Yeah, or something."_

_"Pop. You know the boys have their hooks into everybody's lives. And who are you tellin' me about not being with the boys? The cops are watchin' us because of what you-"_

_"Yeah?__ Well, you wanna be like your old man, Danny? Well I'm tellin' you. Don't."_

"Fever's come down to 101," said a voice.

The dream … no, the memory evaporated like mist, and he found himself being dragged to consciousness. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to be awake; his body ached, his head pounded mercilessly and he felt overwhelmingly weak, a fact which startled him more than he would like to admit.

He felt someone strap a cuff around his arm and frowned when he felt it tightening. Cautiously, he opened his eyes and turned his head toward the offending contraption. A young woman looked up in surprise when he moved and smiled, but she still continued to check his blood pressure. She wore a nurse's uniform.

"You're awake, detective," she said.

"Where…" he winced when his too-dry throat protested, "Where am I?" he finally managed.

"You're in St John's Medical," she said.

"Detective?" came another voice. He recognized it as the voice who intruded into his dreams.

It was the British doctor, he thought, when the man came to his side. At least he could remember that much, even if he couldn't remember how he had ended up here.

"I'm glad to see you awake and lucid," the doctor said. "How are you feeling?"

Why do doctors ask that, when it was obvious he was feeling anything but okay?

"Sore," he finally said. He thought it was an economical way of saying that he felt like shit.

"It's to be expected, detective. Your fever is no longer at dangerous levels; you're going to be just fine," he reassured him.

"How long … have I been here?"

The Doctor hesitated before answering: "You've been here for four days."

"What? I don't remember …" Danny tried to sit up, but the doctor gently pushed him down to the bed.

"You were delirious for most of it and asleep as well."

Bits and pieces of memories – or were they dreams – came to him. Talking to Mac … something about him missing the meeting with Hillborn. He thought he spoke to Flack … once, he thought he awoke to see Aiden at his side, reading something. They were all jumbled up together with strange dreams of mazes, subways and corpses. He wasn't sure what was what …

"Anyway, you need to rest now, Mr Messer," the doctor declared, handing his clipboard to the nurse. "We'll be giving you something to help you sleep."

"I don't need to sleep," he protested weakly. "I need to get back on my feet."

The doctor raised an eyebrow. "I'm glad you're showing some spirit, detective, but I think we both agree that _that_ option is not available to you right now. Good night, Mr Messer."

Danny had to reluctantly agree with the doctor. His eyelids slowly closed and against his will, he was pulled back into the sleep – this time a peaceful sleep, one that was devoid of mazes and subways.

XXXXXXXXXX

It has been five days since Danny was brought into the ICU. And fortunately for Danny, he'd done nothing but improve since then. By the third day of his hospital stay, his fever had finally lowered enough for the doctors not to be worried, and he was shifted from the ICU to a regular ward.

The team visited Danny whenever they could, though Danny was most of the time asleep when they came. And when he was awake, he wasn't necessarily always lucid.

Mac remembered entering Danny's room yesterday just in time to hear Danny ask Aiden groggily why she was in New York instead of Milwaukee – where she'd been since she was 13. He had spent five minutes talking to Aiden thinking that she was a childhood friend called Abby.

These bouts of confusion worried them, but the doctor said it was normal, thanks to his condition. Dr Ferell reassured them that he'd get back to normal very soon.

When Mac entered Danny's ward, he gave the nurse in charge a small smile. She returned the smile from behind the counter.

"How is he today?" he asked. He – and the rest of the team – had asked the same question again and again of the same nurse since he was placed in this ward. The nurse, Joan Helfinger, had gotten the answer down to perfection.

"Asleep most of the time," Joan said with a wry smile.

Mac smiled at that. Danny needed all the rest he could get.

"But I have good news. His fever broke this morning," Joan said - almost cheekily - punctuating her announcement with a big smile.

Mac looked at her in surprise, and then sighed deeply in relief and smiled broadly. "That's really good news."

"Yeah. He was even awake for a while – he woke up when I was checking his blood pressure," said Joan.

"Was he lucid?"

"Yeah, I'd say so. He _insisted_ that he didn't need to sleep. What he needed was to get back on his feet," said Joan, who then rolled her eyes.

Mac had to laugh at that. "That's Danny," he said.

Joan chuckled and opened a file on the counter. "Anyway, his brother was certainly pleased with the news. He's inside right now," she said, motioning towards Danny's room.

Mac, who was about to walk towards Danny's room, abruptly stopped to stare at Joan. Noticing his startled look, the nurse looked up slowly. "Is something wrong?" she asked nervously.

"Danny doesn't have a brother," Mac hissed. With that, he ran to Danny's room, which was at the end of the corridor, with the nurse in close pursuit.

The door was half opened. He nudged the door open slowly with a hand ….

And saw Danny curled up on his side, sleeping soundly in his bed.

The blue curtains were drawn to keep the sunlight out because the light still hurt his eyes; it bathed the room in a dim, cool glow. But of Danny's "brother" – there was no sign.

The nurse pushed past him and began checking Danny's IV and then took his pulse. Danny stirred slightly when she placed a hand on his forehead.

"He's okay," she whispered, looking back at him.

As he looked at Danny's sleeping figure, he noticed something on the bedside table. With habit ingrained into him after years of scanning crime scenes, he put on his gloves as he walked towards it. From Danny's side, the nurse watched warily.

It was a card. On the pure white cover were the elegantly embossed words: Get Well Soon. He opened it cautiously and read the message inside:

**We'll be watching you.**

No signature or name.

"I'm sorry Detective … he seemed like such a nice kid. He was still in his school uniform … said he went to St Andrews," said the nurse with a stricken expression on her face.

"Nobody gets into this room except myself, Dr Hawkes, Detectives Flack, Burn and Bonasera," he said to the nurse as he headed towards the door.

"How about his family? I mean, the real one," she asked softly.

He gave Danny a brief look before replying: "He has no relatives. Not in NY anyway."

With that, he got out of the room, determined to find out just who sent this card.

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

The fingerprints on the card sent to Danny belonged to one Paul Benito. Flack knew the kid immediately.

"Tanglewood wannabe," he muttered darkly. "Caught him a few times for petty theft, Once on attempted car jacking. The kid was bright enough to carjack a cop: me," he chuckled at that.

_Tanglewood__ again, _Mac frowned.

They had brought in the kid after that, with him protesting all the way that there was no legal right for them doing so.

Not for sending the card, no. But for forty unpaid car tickets: yeah.

"Pretty cute of you to dress up in a St Andrews uniform and with this sob story of being Detective Messer's brother. Got to hand it to ya; points for creativity and all that," Flack said sardonically.

"So I sent the card. Thought I'd cheer a cop up, y'know?" Benito said, smirking.

"You think this is funny, Benito? Huh? Why don't you tell us who told you to send the card and maybe we'll talk about cheering _me_ up," Flack said, his voice taut. He hadn't been pleased at all to find out that some punk kid had managed to get into Danny's room – especially when he was in such a vulnerable state. God knows what the kid could've done.

"Look, _officer. _Did I say anythin' bad in the card?"

Flack's expression was neutral, but Benito took it as an affirmation.

"See? No reason for you to be even mad at me. So, why don't you let me go now, huh?"

From behind the observation window, Stella muttered to Mac: "He's right, you know. We have no legal grounds to hold him here. He's got to go."

"But not before I make my statement," he murmured as he stepped out.

When Mac entered the room, the boy gave a small start and stared at him.

"Oh man, more cops," he complained.

"You think you got it easy, don't you? Tanglewood asks you to drop a card at the hospital and you're one of the boys? Get real, kid. You're not going to be a Tanglewood boy. Not ever, because you're too much of a wuss."

"Hey-"

"Because I have a feeling you're supposed to do more than leave a 'get well' card. You're supposed to do him in, but you're too much of a chicken to do anything like that, aren't you, Benito? Not Tanglewood material now, not Tanglewood material, ever," Mac snapped.

Benito got to his feet. "Hey, you know nothin', man! Sonny didn't tell me to kill nobody, man! And I did the job good! He's got my back! He's my friend, dawg!"

Flack raised an eyebrow. "Sonny Sassone, huh?" he said.

Benito went pale when he realized what he just did.

"I stand by my case, Benito. You ratted out on Sonny without even realizing it. Sonny used you, and you're dumb enough to fall for it. You're an easy mark and I don't think the Boys will love you now. Not that they ever did," Mac growled. "Get him out of here, Flack. And make sure he pays off those unpaid tickets."

"My pleasure," Flack said as he grabbed Benito by his collar and hauled him out of the interrogation room.

"You know, there's legally nothing wrong for an inmate to send a police officer a get well card," Stella said when Flack and Benito left.

"And he knows that. He's playing with us. Playing with Danny."

"You think they know each other?" Stella asked. It was a question she had been asking herself since the day Sonny made that remark about Danny in the interrogation room: "We know all about him, and he knows all about us."

He shook his head and sighed, rubbing his aching forehead. "I don't know what to think at this point. Danny doesn't have to know about the 'visit' for now. At least, not until he gets better."

Stella nodded. "It's just Sonny trying to rattle us," she said, her voice hard with anger.

"And one day, he'll slip, and we'll catch him. He's not going to get away throwing veiled threats at one of us with get well cards," Mac growled.


	7. Chapter 12

**Tangled**

**By Wyndhamfan**

****

NOTES: Ah! You must be wondering where I've been. I know, I wondered the same thing. Busy, busy with a job transfer but all is well now. Also, the story was originally completed, but I wanted to add another chapter to "fleshen" the story a bit. (Which means Danny has to suffer a little bit longer. Poor man.)

Hope you like it, and thank you for the kind reviews. Now, on with the story!

**Chapter 12**

Danny opened his eyes slowly. The blurry ceiling slowly sharpened … and he frowned. _Funny, _he thought. _I thought I should be feeling better. But instead …_

He wasn't sure how to describe how he felt right now. Dizzy … yes. Lethargic. Double yes. Then there's a strange coldness creeping up on him. He didn't like that cold much at all.

He shifted his head to the side, and to his surprise he saw a nurse – the same nurse that had woken him up the other time. When was it?

The nurse gave him a tight smile – the kind of smile you give someone to reassure them that everything was fine when it was not. That was his first clue.

Then she looked somewhere to her left and said, "Dr Ferell, you have to see this." She then handed the person a clipboard.

She sounded worried. That was the second clue.

Dr Ferell came to his side, studied the chart she presented him. Then it was his turn to give Danny a concerned look.

That was his third clue.

"So … am I dying?" he asked them. The nurse looked startled, but she didn't give him a reassuring smile like he expected her to. She just looked at the doctor uncertainly, as if to ask him what she should say.

"Not if I could help it, Danny," the doctor said gravely. He then whispered something to the nurse – it was too soft for Danny to hear what it was. It was done deliberately, he supposed. If they were trying not to worry him, it was failing miserably.

Then the doctor leaned low and told him:

"We're going to take you to the ICU now to run some tests. You're in good hands, so you need not worry."

He swallowed. He was seriously in trouble, wasn't he? He managed a weak nod and then felt the doctor squeeze his hand in reassurance.

"You're going to be fine."

_I want to believe that. I have to believe that, _he thought as he closed his eyes, willing himself to calm down. He wondered what crisis his body was in now.

Surprisingly, despite his anxiety, he drifted off to sleep. However, he stirred when the orderlies shifted him to a gurney and clutched the rails at the side of his bed in reflex to support himself. Then they were wheeling him out. Suddenly, he found a warm hand envelop his. He looked up to see … Aiden?

She smiled down at him. It was a shaky, uncertain smile. Like she was putting it on for his benefit. He thought that it was sweet of her.

"Hey," he said softly. He gave her a smile. He hoped it was a good one.

"Hey, yourself. You hang in there," she said gruffly.

"Always," he said. He felt embarrassed at sounding so faint and weak. He didn't like people he knew to see him so debilitated. But he supposed he didn't exactly have a say in this matter.

They wheeled him away and Aiden was forced to let him go. He wished he could see her. It seemed such a lonely journey to the ICU without her.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"There has been a complication."

That was the only warning Mac and Aiden got about the change Danny's condition. Mac instinctively froze, but forced himself to ask, "What is it?"

"He's bleeding internally," Dr Ferell said shortly. His expression was a careful neutral, but Mac could still spy the worry behind the man's blue eyes.

Beside him, Aiden gasped and then crossed her arms, her head bowed. She probably didn't want him to see her tears – he had caught the glint in her eyes just before she looked down.

"What does that mean?" he asked. _It means that he's losing blood. It means that his road to recovery wasn't as smooth as we thought it would be. It means he could still die._

"The bacteria had attacked the lining of the blood vessels, causing liquid to leak from it. In some cases, there is bleeding; he's anemic as a result, but the fact that his blood pressure is dropping so fast and so suddenly worries me. Still, it reassures me that … that there doesn't seem to be any indication of major organ damage or fluid in his lungs," he said.

"You're saying that he could die, aren't you?" Aiden said suddenly.

Dr Ferell's eyes shifted briefly to her. Then he shook her head. "I am certainly not saying that, Ms Burns. Although it's a complication we do not need, I want to re-emphasize that Danny is young and healthy. And _strong_," he said.

There was a brief, taut silence then Ferell said gently: "We'll be giving him a blood transfusion soon. I'll let you know if there's a change in his condition."

Then they heard a noise coming from Danny's room and saw attendants wheeling him out of his room. Aiden quickly ran to her partner's side, talking to him for a while before letting him go.

Then it was just Mac and Aiden watching Ferell, Danny and everyone else depart for the ICU.

"This is unfair, Mac," Aiden said when they were gone. "They _said _he was getting better," she said accusingly.

Mac shook his head and gritted his teeth in frustration. He felt the same – and knowing that despite all his sleuthing and scientific know-how he couldn't do anything to help Danny out of this was leaving him angry and frustrated.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Well, look at the mess you got yourself into now."

Danny opened his eyes groggily. Looked to his left and saw a man in his twenties, leafing through what he assumed was his medical chart. He stared at the man silently, unsure what to say to him.

The man, meanwhile, just raised and eyebrow and said: "What, no 'hi' to your best friend, Messer?"

"Depends," he croaked in response. "See, if memory serves me correctly – you're dead."

"Really?" Tony Scanlon lifted his eyebrows and grinned. "Doesn't mean I'm still not your best friend, right?"

Danny didn't reply.

"Well, I'm stung, you know. I still consider you my best pal."

"Do you still _think _down there? In hell?"

"Oooh," Tony laid a hand on his chest and feigned pain. "That hurts, Messer. I see you're still angry with me."

"Pretty hard to forget what you did," he whispered hoarsely.

"I knew you were the sort to keep grudges. Always suspected that in you. That trait would've made you a great Tanglewood boy. But look what you did? Joined the cops!" Tony made a sound of disgust.

Danny turned his head towards the ceiling and tried to will this apparition away, but he could still hear Tony anyway.

"Bet you feel like shit. I mean, you bleeding internally and all. Who knows, maybe you will join me soon, Messer," Tony chuckled.

Danny closed his eyes and gripped the blankets tightly. He took a deep breath, opened his eyes and willed himself not to look at Tony. "You killed my father. If I go to hell, I want to be able to kill you all over again," he whispered hoarsely.

"Touché," came Tony. "Though I have to admit, killing your dad – that was something else."

He swiftly turned to where Tony was. Or at least, was _supposed _to be. Instead, a bland wall greeted him. That, and what looked like an IV drip … only, it was filled with blood.

He was getting a blood transfusion.

Danny stared at it morbidly, wondering how the blood could push its way into his body. Wondered whose blood was it – he was an AB-. He wondered whether they had a hard time getting the blood.

He remembered how blood felt like in his hands. Not the cold blood of corpses that he was used to touching, but warm, still pulsing with life, blood. His father's blood in his hands, he thought as his eyes slid close.

The dreams never left him. They chased after him and finally caught him.

_"I know what you did, Danny … wanna say, that it's not your fault," his father said between gasps._

_He couldn't accept that. He shook his head in denial, all the while trying to keep his shaking hands still so that he could stem the flow of blood from his father's gut._

_"Don't talk, pop. Don't talk. You're gonna be okay, you're gonna be okay!" he stammered. Tears blurred his vision, but he didn't dare wipe them away. He had to stop the blood from flowing out of his father._

_His father raised a bloodied hand to grip his sleeve. "Listen to me, Danny. You leave this place. And never come back. Don't you dare join … the boys."_

_He shook his head. "I won't, I won't, I swear I won't." Just don't die, he begged silently. _

_His father smiled … and his eyes began to close._

_"Pop! Pop, don't close your eyes. Please … I can't live with … I didn't mean to tell them about the tapes. I didn't think they'd …I just told Tony. He was my best friend. He wouldn't tell Copano, but he did, God, he did," he babbled, then began to sob; he couldn't control himself – to hell with what his father told him about tears making a man look weak. _

_Eric Messer opened his eyes and clutched his son's shirt again. "Listen to me, boy. You burn those things. Burn them. Don't use them."_

_Danny hissed in anger. "They have to pay. They have to pay for what they did to you. Tony has to pay! He will pay, I promise you that!"_

_His father only stared at him silently. And when long minutes passed without any other reaction from him, Danny realized that he was gone. Gone before he could even say goodbye._

_"Pop? Pop? Don't go pop," he whispered. His father only stared … he could still feel the warm blood in his hands … only it had stopped pumping out like before. It was more of a trickle now. And then he was finally conscious of the dirty alley he was kneeling in. He finally realized that there was somebody else with him … he looked up and saw a uniformed cop. And he was looking at him sympathetically._

_"Kid …I'm sorry, kid. He's gone."_

_"He's not gone," he said flatly._

_"Kid …"_

_"He's not dead! He's still here!" he yelled. "He's not dead!" he cried out again, and buried his face in his father's chest and screamed in anguish._

"He's not dead ..." he whispered as his eyes opened again. He realized then that his cheeks were wet, and that he was still crying.

"He's not dead," he said again. And realized what an utter lie it was. His father was dead – had been lying cold in the ground for more than a decade.

And it was his fault that he was there.

"Shh," someone whispered. A hand brushed the hair away from his forehead and he saw a dark-haired woman with a gentle smile.

"Aiden," he whispered. Aiden had seen him crying in his sleep … but somehow he didn't have the energy to feel embarrassed. Instead, he shifted his head to his side and tried to stop his tears.

But he couldn't.

Aiden gently wrapped an arm around his shaking body, making soothing noises as he cried softly.

"I killed him," he whispered after a while.

He could see Aiden frown. "It was an accident, Danny. You didn't mean to kill Menhaus," she said.

He lay quietly in the bed and could only stare silently at the wall behind her when she said that. Aiden was still stroking his hair … _now _he felt self-conscious ... He just closed his eyes and tried to shrink deeper into his blanket.

He didn't dare tell her that it wasn't Menhaus he was talking about.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Everything lost clarity after that.

He vaguely remembered Dr Ferell looking at him worriedly. The doctor was asking him something, but Danny found it too difficult to concentrate, so he decided to slide back to sleep again.

Then there was the nurse who said something to someone on her left. "Pressure is falling. Respiration is getting weaker, Doctor," she had said.

The sound of machines. One beeping, another hissing. He had cautiously fingered the nasal cannula on his face and sighed. He hated those things. The oxygen always smelled funny.

Slept … then …

"Hey Danny boy," said his father. He was by his bed sitting in a chair reading the _New York Post _like he always did every morning. He put down the paper and gave him a broad grin. "Had a good nap?"

He knew that his father wasn't supposed to be there, but he was so glad to see him nevertheless – even if he was just a dream.

"I think so," he answered weakly. Eric Messer smiled and laughed, as if his answer amused him greatly. He looked the same way he did ten years ago. Only better. Happier.

"Listen to me, kid. You're not going anywhere yet," his father said as he carefully folded the newspaper.

"Going where?" he wondered out loud.

"You know," said his father, shrugging. As if it answered everything. Then he turned serious. "You turned out good, kid. I'm proud of you."

The words he'd always hoped his father would say to him one day. Only he never got to hear it. Too bad this was just a dream. He blinked away tears, surprised to realize that they were clouding his vision.

"You're not going to cry on me, are ya?" his father said. He looked amused. Danny just stared at his father – or rather, the hallucination of his father – and tried to absorb image so that he'd never forget it.

"I miss you, Pop," he whispered finally.

The older Messer nodded understandingly. "I know, kid. I know."

"I'm sorry for what I did," he whispered.

His father looked at him, his face in a heavy frown. "Kid. You didn't pull the trigger. Tony did. Remember that."

"I told them about the tapes. If I hadn't told Tony … he wouldn't have told Copano. And then … Tony …" he couldn't go on because he was starting to cry again, and he felt stupid for crying in front of a hallucination.

"Danny. Don't sweat it," said his father.

He didn't know when his father left and someone else appeared in that chair. It seemed as if a chunk of time went missing and he couldn't remember what happened in between.

"So. Aiden's really cranky the past few days. I could've sworn that she was about to deck Killman yesterday. You know, the guy had it coming. Wish she almost did, because everyone in the department has been waiting for someone to-" Flack lifted his eyes to look at him and then blinked in surprise.

"You're awake," he smiled broadly.

Danny wasn't that sure, but he gave Flack a reassuring smile.

"Sorry to wake you. I mean, I think Nurse Helen would kill me if she found out," he whispered to Danny.

He wondered if Nurse Helen was the same nurse that took his blood pressure … how many days ago was that?

"What day is it?" he croaked. Boy did he sound terrible. His voice couldn't seem to rise above a whisper either.

"Ah … Monday," said Flack.

"I missed the meeting with Hillborn," he said in realization.

"Well, _yeah_," said Flack with an "isn't it obvious" expression. "And you don't have to worry about that meeting comin' up in the future either. Mac told Hillborn to get a life. But don't quote me on that."

"Did Hillborn visit me?"

The detective's eyebrows shot up. "You mean, _here_?"

"I thought I saw him beside my bed," he whispered. Danny could see Flack starting to look concerned because of his remark.

"No … he didn't visit," Flack said carefully. "But he did send a get-well card. Very officious looking card, at that," he said in mock-seriousness.

"Nice," he whispered tiredly. His eyelids were starting to weigh a ton again. "I should … frame it," he murmured. He lost the battle with his closing eyelids.

"You rest there, Danny. I've got your back," he heard Flack say before everything went dark and peaceful.

_I've got your back … Flack said that Mac had my back … why didn't I believe him? I couldn't believe him. Nobody had my back. Not even Tony, the kid I grew up with. My dad … he tried, but he was killed because of it._

"You're going to be okay, Danny." That was Mac, sitting by his bed. He saw Mac reach out to awkwardly grip his hand. That felt weird … Mac wasn't exactly a 'touch-feely' kind of guy. Then again, neither was he.

He wanted to tell Mac to relax and not worry about him so much because the heavy frown on Mac's forehead was starting to make him anxious. But before he could muster the energy to say something, Mac said, "You had your last blood transfusion yesterday … you had us worried for a few days there. And your fever didn't return, which was a good sign. You're going to be okay," he said.

Danny realized that this was Mac's version of babbling. He found it strangely hilarious. He smiled at Mac wanly (couldn't manage a laugh), and when Mac saw his smile, the frown disappeared and he smiled broadly.

Everything that went down between them; it didn't matter now. He realized that Mac still considered him a friend … somehow that seemed important to know. Danny squeezed Mac's hand weakly. He didn't see how he responded to that, because he fell asleep again.

XXXXXXXXXXX

He felt Danny squeeze his hand – it was weak, but it nevertheless reassured Mac that he was understood.

He looked up from Danny's pale hand and found him sleeping again. He sighed and patted Danny's hand once more and leaned back slowly in the uncomfortable chair.

The past few days had been hellish. The doctors seemed uncertain about Danny's condition, and Dr Ferell had cautiously warned them that it could go both ways – he could either improve or deteriorate drastically.

And it had been eight days since they found him in his apartment … a long time for him to be sick. Dr Ferell's good news today that Danny had stopped bleeding internally couldn't have come at a better time.

_And he seemed less pale_, Mac thought to himself, looking at Danny's drawn features.

Danny's detour into this crisis had affected the team. Oh, they were professionals when they did their jobs. But beneath the professional facade, their anxiety coiled like a tightly-wound spring; Flack was more irritable than usual; Aiden was short-tempered … only Stella seemed even-tempered like she always was. But Mac could see her occasionally looking at Danny's abandoned desk with an expression of regret. Mac wondered what she had to regret about when it came to Danny.

Then, on the second day of Danny's second stay in the ICU, Mac had found Aiden sitting in the waiting area outside Danny's room, looking dazed. She told him that Danny had woken up crying, and how she had tried to calm him down until he fell asleep.

"And I had to be strong for him, you know? But I was tearing up inside, Mac. He still has that shooting in his mind. And I can't do a goddamn thing to change that! And I don't know why I'm angry," she had snapped, her eyes shining from unshed tears and anger.

And he had sat beside Danny that night, staring at the heartbeat monitor and letting the hissing of the respirator machine lull him into a dazed state where his mind wandered back to the Menhaus case. Could he have handled it better? Gave Danny some kind of hope after the verbal beating he had given him? Why did he leave Danny high and dry with his "we'll see" comment that Saturday? And he wondered how their easy-going relationship had deteriorated to one of distrust and suspicion.

It's funny how the possibility of death hovering near one of their own could reshuffle priorities and quickly dismantle resentment.

For Mac it was a wake-up call to fix the mess their relationship had become before it was too late. And it was nearly too late. Tanglewood or no Tanglewood, Danny was part of his team – Mac had made him part of it, and he will make sure that wouldn't change.

Unless Danny wanted it to change.

Like it or not, it was not going to be an easy task if that was so, and he just prayed that Danny wouldn't give him cause to revoke the promise he had just made.


	8. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

"_You don't want to do this."_

_They were on top of the tallest building in Tanglewood, a block of abandoned apartments at the edge of town. Tony hadn't thought that he'd be so persistent, that he'd follow him all the way here. But after having seen your best friend killing your father, persistence was a side effect. _

"_Can you read my mind? How do you know I don't want to do this?" he hissed, gripping the gun in a tighter grip. _

_Tony put up his hands. "Listen to me, Danny-"_

"_Why in the fucking hell would I?" he shouted. He cocked the gun. He was ready. He was going to shoot. But he found his hand trembling._

"_I swear, Danny. I didn't know Copano would kill him. I just wanted to-" Tony stopped mid-sentence because Danny was laughing. It was a hard, bitter laugh, and as tears clouded Danny's vision, he shook his head and edged closer to Tony._

"_You're an idiot, Tony. I **saw **you kill him. I saw you pointing the gun at him, pulling the trigger and running away like the shit head chicken shit that you are!"_

"_What ... how ..."_

"_I was on the roof. And I saw you. I saw you kill my father!" he yelled._

_Tony paled visibly. Slowly, his hands fell to his sides. Silence stretched between the two former best friends._

_Then, Tony said in a dead voice: "So I killed him. Big deal."_

_And Danny pulled the trigger._

Beep ... Beep ... Beep ...

The sound of the gunshot faded away, and was replaced, incongruously, by the sound of a muted beep.

As he struggled to consciousness, Danny became aware of his body: how it ached, how his head was pounding.

And he found himself looking at a bland, white ceiling. The dream had faded away, but the memory of what he did still stayed – even in this bland hospital room where he had been holed in for the past few days.

"You awake, Messer?"

That voice. He turned towards the sound, and Aiden Burn gave him her 100-watt smile. But he could see the anxiety in her eyes. Worried ... for him?

"It's about time you woke up. I was getting bored, sitting here reading _Motors and Highways_."

He saw the beat up magazine in her hands.

"Hospital," he concluded when he raised an arm and saw an IV line which snaked around it. There were bruises on his arm where they had poked and prodded him with the IV line. They stood out vividly on his pale skin.

"Yeah," Aiden said, nodding.

The details returned to him. He was sick. Mac found him … the doctor told him that he had been in the hospital for the past four days. Then he got sick again …

Vaguely, Danny remembered talking to Mac … Stella … Flack. But he could only remember bits and snatches of conversations. And he remembered speaking to Tony … and his father … which disturbed him since they were both dead.

It was disorienting – and frankly a little worrying for a guy who relied on his memory the way he did – to not remember clearly what he had been doing the past few days.

But he hadn't felt this clear-headed in days.

He carefully placed the hand with the IV on his chest. "How long have I been here?" he rasped, almost afraid of the answer. He hoped he hadn't slept a few more days away since the last time the doctor visited him.

Aiden gave him a small smile. "Ten days."

"What?" he gasped.

She merely nodded before saying: "Well … you were out of your head for most of it."

"Was that supposed to be … reassuring?"

"Yeah. Sorta." She threw him a mischievous smile.

He took it in. Ten days. Ten days in bed. He hadn't been in bed that long in his life.

"So, what did I have?" he asked as he tried to sit up.

"Just what the hell are you doin'?" Aiden protested, pushing him down – much too easily, Danny thought uncomfortably.

"Sitting up," he said as he, again, tried to sit up.

"You shouldn't be movin'. You just got out of ICU yesterday, and a couple of days ago you were bleeding internally. So, believe me when I say you shouldn't be movin', I _know_," Aiden said. But she helped adjust his pillows behind his back anyway. Probably knew that he was going to sit up with or without her help just to get his way. And she would've been right.

"Aiden, I've been on my back for ten days. I think it's time for me to get off it a bit," he muttered as she helped him to sit up. His arms trembled as he pushed himself up, and he found himself struggling for breath as he sat up. He ended up lying back against the stack of pillows, breathing heavily. He closed his eyes and willed himself to regain his breath,embarassed that this little activity proved how correct Aiden was.

Aiden, however, made a show of not noticing his discomfort. She put aside the magazine, arranged some inconsequential things on his side table as he tried to catch his breath. It was times like these that he knew that he was lucky to have Aiden as his partner.

When he finally caught his breath, Aiden handed him a cup of water, which he stubbornly took – the last thing he wanted was to let anyone feed him anything. While he sipped the water catiously, trying his best to keep his hands from shaking too hard, she told him that he had contracted something called Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever. His incredulous look got a smile from Aiden.

"Pretty exotic, huh?" she said with a grin.

"No. I was thinkin' that it's just my luck to get an illness that sounds more like an ice-cream flavour," he said sarcastically. He handed back the cup to Aiden, feeling absurdly proud that his hand didn't shake this time.

It was even more ironic since he had gotten the tick from a dog called Rocky.

When she told him that it was Mac and Stella who had found him in his apartment, he groaned in dismay. Yeah, he vaguely remembered Mac telling him that, but the fact hadn't sunk in then – that they'd probably found him off his head, and saying God knows what.

"What? They _were _worried about you, you know. Still are. The last time you spoke to Mac, you called him 'Maggie'," she said.

"No," he said in despair.

"Nah, sorry. I'm just messin' with you. You actually called him Debbie. You called me Abby. About four days ago, in fact."

"Maybe I'm still asleep," he said and sighed.

Aiden chuckled. She realized that she was enjoying this far too much. Maybe because she was so relieved. She still remembered how Danny looked a few days ago – he had looked so pale ... so unlike himself ... hooked up to machines and IV lines. And although she hoped for the best, a small part of her felt that he would never survive this. Then he had woken up crying, and she had never seen him cry before. The thought that the illness had made Danny lose it like that had shaken her.

Then came the good news they all wanted to hear; and Danny was finally released from the ICU yesterday. Still, Aiden did not know what to expect when he opened his eyes moments ago. She had half expected him not to recognise her.

What a difference a day made, Aiden thought as he tried to reach for something on the sidetable. And because Danny was nearly back to full mental capacity (or thought he was), his cynical bantering was back, and so was his "I'm fine, I can handle it myself" bullshit.

"Would you quit movin' already?" Aiden said, swatting his hand away. She placed the watch in his hand.

"I really think that you're takin' this mothering business too seriously," Danny said, throwing her a faux hurt look.

"If you don't quit movin' around, you'll see how 'motherly' I can get," Aiden said, fixing him with a stern glare. Suddenly, she reached out and gave him a big hug.

That surprised Danny enough to render him speechless.

"What was that all about?" he asked when she pulled away.

She gave him a crooked grin. "Treasure it, Messer. This is a once in a lifetime hug from me."

Danny grinned and was about to say something when a nurse came in carrying a tray of what suspiciously looked like medicine.

"I'm sorry, Ms Burns. Danny needs his meds now," said the nurse.

Aiden just gave the nurse an understanding nod then quickly gave Danny a peck on the cheek.

"You get better now. I'll be by to visit you tomorrow, 'k?."

Danny smiled slightly as he watched her leave the room. He didn't think she'd be here by his bedside. He had always wondered if she would ... guess he had his answer now.

XXXXXXXXX

They call it the "roof gazebo"; a rather fancy name for a little green lung on top of the hospital. Patients – those with ailments not serious enough to warrant constant care – walked quietly between Japanese-inspired décor and giant pots filled with green plants.

He had slept most of the day away, but awoke around late afternoon. Rather than spend the rest of his waking hours staring at the ceiling, Danny had demanded – and then begged – to be let out of his room.

That begging worked ­ the nurses finally relented, saying that he would be allowed a 15-minute visit and then it's back in bed for him.

"Here we are," declared the nurse cheerfully. Her name was Joan, and she spoke to him with a kind of fammiliarity that made him uncomfortable. He vaguely remembered her as the nurse who had checked his blood presssure. He hoped that that was all she did for him.

And if he knew how much trouble it was to get him out of bed, he would've reconsidered. First there was the humiliating experience of having two orderlies helping him to his wheelchair, ignoring his insistence that he could walk. Still, even with their support, he was left dizzy from the exertion. Not that he'd admit it out loud to Joan and the orderlies – they seemed eager to put him back in bed. His weakness made him both embarassed and furious. He had never been so sick that he couldn't take care of himself, and this little taste of it was enough.

Then there was the mothering.

Joan seemed to take a perverse pleasure in babying him. He could go out, on the condition that he was well "covered up".

"You gotta be kidding me. It's summer," he complained as she draped a blanket over his legs.

"_Almost _summer. And it's getting dark out," Joan said brightly as she smoothed out the blanket.Bad enough that he had to wear a silly robe, now he had to sport a checquered blanket.

The dark corridor suddenly gave way to a bright open space.

Danny blinked at the sudden intrusion of light and shifted uncomfortably in his wheelchair.

"Must I be in this wheelchair?"

"Danny, getting you out of bed was miracle enough with the doctors. I don't think I can perform another miracle," she said with a playful grimace.

He gave her a wan smile which she returned, and then she wheeled him down the covered walkway in silence.

"Your friends were here just now," she said after a while. "But Dr Ferell said that you needed to sleep."

He acknowledged her comment with a nod and looked absently at a water garden they briefly passed.

"They were with you almost every day," she said. "They must care for you a lot."

Again, he shifted in his wheelchair, only this time from embarassment.

"Um, yeah ..." he said half-heartedly.

They stopped beside a zen-like fountain which bubbled happily. The water cascaded from stone pillars, falling into a tastefully designed pond filled with koi fish.

"This whole place was built by Solomon Yates, you know, the publishing guy?"

Danny nodded absently.

"Well, at least his money did. His daughter was here for her cancer treatments. He was grateful and all that. Anyway, I'll leave you here for ten minutes, then it's time to return to your room, okay?"

He gave her a brief smile and returned to staring at the pond. When he was sure that she was a distance away, he finally allowed himself to relax a little.

He'd always been certain about one thing: that there was only one person he could depend on – himself. When he was sick, he steeled himself through it. He didn't need babying or chicken soup from neighbours. He wasn't raised that way. He wasn't the type to want people to be around him when he was sick – in fact, had he been stronger (and in his right mind), he would've _made _them leave.

It didn't help that he had been dreaming a lot when he was asleep. No ... he was remembering ... God help him if he had babbled them out when he was delirious. There are just some things that should just remain in his head.

Danny looked at his hands and remembered the feel of the gun in his hands when he had pulled the trigger. And he remembered the police officer talking to him at the courthouse where they were finally putting Copano behind bars – thanks to him.

"_That's a brave thing you did, kid."_

_He wished everyone would stop calling him that. He was nobody's kid. Not now anyway. He smiled bitterly and pulled a drag from his ciggarate, staring at the doors of the courthouse. _

_They were standing on the sixth floor of the opposite building, looking at the courthouse from the windows of the lift area._

"_Thanks to your tapes, Copano and his boys will be put in jail for a long time."_

_He stared at the cop, and wondered how was he supposed to react to that. Overjoyed? Relieved? He felt nothing._

"_Those were not my tapes. They're my father's," he said shortly. He threw the ciggarate down and grounded it under his shoe. "He died making them. He died keeping them."_

_Lieutenant Paul Deckman nodded. "Brave man. He must've worn some kind of wire to every Tanglewood meeting there was. Don't know why he did it. Probably for a day like this."_

_Silence as they watched the courthouse some more. Then, suddenly, the doors burst open. The waiting reporters at the footsteps of the courthouse came to life. All of them began scurrying up the steps, mikes and cameras ready and wearing their best anchor faces._

_Tony Copano was the first ushered out, followed by his sons Johnny and Sam. Then there were the DiGarcias, all four of them. The heads of Tanglewood. The snake was beheaded. Unfortunately, he knew that a new head will spring up soon enough. This was not enough to keep Tanglewood down._

"_We found your friend Tony Scanlon's body yesterday," Deckman said casually, as if he just commented on the weather._

_Danny showed no reaction. Merely lit another ciggarate and started puffing away, still staring at the mileau below them._

_But Deckman was watching him very intently. He shifted his gaze back to the courthouse and in a deceptively easy going voice said: "Sorry for your loss."_

_Another puff, then Danny shrugged. "Whatever."_

"_You seem pretty broken up that your best friend died," Deckman said sarcastically._

"_Yeah, I'm crushed," he said dryly. _

"_You didn't have anything to do with it, did you?" Deckman had decided to cut to the chase instead of pussy footing around._

"_Why would I do anything?" he asked, his voice still disinterested._

"_Maybe because he killed your father." Deckman was still watching him intently._

_He held his breath. It was a momentary lapse that the detective quickly took note of._

"_Copano, as a plea for a shorter sentence, ratted out Scanlon. Not that it helped much because we found him dead and all. Apparently he's been dead for four days. Someone left him to rot at the bottom of an abandoned apartment complex. You know anything about that, kid?"_

"_Maybe he felt guilty and jumped," he said sardonically._

_Deckman laughed shortly. "That's poetic, Messer. Only, how did you know he died from a fall?"_

_Neat trick, he thought. _

"_Well. If you want to arrest me, go ahead and do it. Because I don't have time to play games with you, detective."_

_Deckman looked at him, his slate grey eyes intent on his face. "Tell you what, kid. You hang around. The department owes you because of this big break. But you hang around and don't get out of town. Because if you do, you're just tellin' us you have something to hide."_

_He laughed again. "Shit, detective. You guys have been tailin' my father since forever. We see you outside the house, you know. We ain't blind. If there's somethin' to hide – you guys would have sniffed us out already." _

_He tossed the ciggarate and glared at Deckman. "Scanlon deserved to die. And I ain't sorry he died. Did I do it? Well, I believe in you cops despite the grief you've given my family all our lives. So do you fucking job."_

_He turned to leave, and as he left, he heard Deckman say: "Yeah, he will. The CSI I know is the best there is."_

He had always wondered who this CSI was. Because his bacon wasn't in prison because of what he did. And for weeks they kept him under house arrest – nothing new. His entire life he was used to cops watching his family like the pariahs they were. But after two weeks, Deckman had come to his house and told him that he was cleared, and that Tony had apparently fallen from the building - "accidently".

If only they knew.

_I envy your simple life, _he thought as he stared at the koi dancing between the stone beams of the fountain.

He carefully leaned forward to study his reflection in the water. And realised that he didn't look particularly healthy. There were dark circles under his eyes, had a week's worth of stubble and his hair was a mess. And he was pale – it was not going to do any favours for his already pale complexion.

"You look a lot better today."

Mac's reflection appeared behind his. He turned around in surprise to see Mac giving him a small smile.

"The nurse said that you'll be here," Mac said. He sounded casual – at least to untrained ears – but Danny could detect the hint of awkwardness beneath the easy-going tone.

He also found that he didn't know what to say to him. It may have been nearly two weeks since they last spoke to each other in Mac's office, but to Danny it was like yesterday. And the fact that Mac saw him at his lowest and weakest didn't sit well with him. At all.

He flashed Mac a nervous smile and then looked down at his hands distractedly.

He heard, rather than saw Mac taking a seat on the stone bench beside his wheelchair.

"Nice place," Mac commented as he looked around.

"Yeah," Danny said awkwardly.

More awkward silence between them. Then, Mac said:

"Dr Ferell said that you could be discharged in a few days. But after that it is three weeks of sick leave for you," he said after a moment of silence.

That instantly animated Danny – like Mac suspected it would. Danny's eyes widened and the all-too-familiar look of protest returned to his expression.

"Three weeks? Come on, Mac! What the hell am I supposed to do for that long?" he said. His voice may still be weak and hoarse, but there was no mistaking the indignation behind it.

"I don't know. Rest, maybe?"

"Mac, I've been sleeping for ten days!"

"You were sick for ten days. Half the time you were delirious. Big difference."

"Come on, Mac! I'll be fine in a few days," Danny protested.

He let out a short laugh. "Danny, even if I can put you back on duty tommorow, I can't go against Dr Ferell's orders."

Danny sighed and cupped his chin with a hand. "What the hell am I going to do for three weeks?"

"Maybe you can finally ask Shannon out."

That caught Danny by surprise.

"Wh … how did you know–" but Danny quickly figured it out. "Oh, _that _day."

"She was there," Mac said in confirmation.

Danny groaned at the thought of Shannon seeing him passed out and off his head. Maybe it was time for him to move out or something. He could feel his face getting warm – thanks to his already too-pale skin, he's probably red now.

"She was worried about you. Sent you a teddy bear. You were asleep when she came to visit you today," he said as he handed him a purple teddy bear. Danny eyed the bear and wondered what he was going to do with it.

"What are you doin' playing matchmaker, anyway?" Danny said, mildly annoyed, as he gingerly took the teddy bear from Mac's hands.

"Detective Taylor? I think Danny needs his rest now." It was Joan, who appeared out of nowhere.

"What? Is the 10 minutes up already?" Danny protested weakly. Though the truth was, he was already feeling exhausted. He blinked quickly to prevent his eyes from drooping shut.

"Danny?"

He looked up; Joan was already starting to steer the wheelchair back into the darker corridors of the hospital.

Mac had an unreadable look on his face. Then, he nodded.

"We're good," he said.

Danny blinked in surprise. He could only stare at Mac for a while ... then he allowed himself a small smile.

"Time to go," Joan said gently. She turned him around and they returned to his room.


	9. Chapter 14

**Note: **I know, I know ... I took _such _a horribly long time to end the story. (Guilty grin). I had several career shifts, a computer breakdown, and a punishing schedule to contend with ... my goal for the past year was just to survive. ;) Thank God I have some room to breathe now! So here's the final chapter of Tangled! Hope it's good. :)

**Chapter Fourteen  
**

"_So I killed him. Big deal."_

_His rage was so great that he pulled the trigger without thinking. And his heart stopped the moment the sound of the gunshot richoceted around the deserted neighbourhood. Because he realised then that he didn't want to do it. He didn't want Tony to die. Because in some twisted part of him, Tony was still his best friend._

_Tony opened his eyes in shock. He was quivering in terror, but he looked more surprised than horrified – because the shot had missed him._

"_You missed," he said in shock._

_Danny lowered the gun to his side. He couldn't do it. _

_His breath came in gasps. He couldn't do it. His father was dead, killed by this bastard, and he couldn't do it._

"_I knew you wouldn't do it."_

_The punch caught him by surprise. He lay on the ground, with his lip cut and bleeding, and when he looked up, Tony was pointing the gun at him._

"_Like father, like son, huh? He stared at me the same way when I pointed the gun at him."_

_Danny roared in rage when Tony said that. This time he didn't care if he lived or died – he lunged at Tony, and tackled him to the ground. But Tony was always the best wrestler and fighter – he cold coked him with the gun._

_He fell to the ground, stunned, and heard the gun being readied._

"_Sorry, Danny. Really. But ... I need to do this."_

_He looked up and stared at the gun. And he thought about how the boys would talk about this over pizza, like it was the funniest thing in the world. Danny Messer was a wuss. He just stared like a retard when he was shot down like a rat._

_The wind began to blow furiously, as if anticipating his downfall. The rickety clothes line next to them, made up by a couple of wires nailed to two barely-standing rotting wooden polls began to shake._

_He stared at Tony, at the kid that he had shared late night suppers with at Denny's, who had eaten his mother's pumpkin pie every Thanksgiving, and who had stayed over at his place when his pop was drunk again. And he wondered how this neighbourhood could twist a man._

"_Goodbye, Messer." And Tony aimed. He closed his eyes._

_There was a loud sound, but it wasn't a gunshot. It sounded like a metallic shriek and something wooden breaking. He heard Tony scream._

_Danny opened his eyes and saw that the wire from the clothesline had somehow managed to wrap itself around Tony's face, blinding him. The wooden poles of the clothesline, now without the support of the wires, rocked crazily in the churning wind. Danny stared in fascination as Tony struggled against the wires entangled around his head._

"_Damn it!" Tony yelled as he finally removed the wires from his face. "Stupid wir-"_

_And the wooden pole finally came off its flimsy holding place and flew across the air ...and it smacked Tony right across the face._

_Tony let out a surprised grunt and fell back._

_And continued falling._

_All that was left was Tony's fading scream. And then a sickening thump at the end of it._

_He stared at the empty space where Tony had been as the furious wind began picking up speed around him. The remaining pole jittered wildly at its spot, but he toyed with fate and went to the edge, looking over to see what lay on the street below._

_It was Tony, his body bent in an inhuman shape. The wires were still entangled around him, and the wooden pole that had sent him to his death lay next to him._

"Danny?"

Danny jerked in surprise when Flack called out his name. Carefully, he took his eyes away from the window and looked at Flack. He hoped that his expression didn't convey the grief he felt at recalling that memory.

"Hey, you okay?" the detective asked, frowning.

Well, looks like it didn't work that well. He had always been a lousy liar.

He blinked to get rid of Tony's blood-streaked face from his mind. Then, forcibly, he smiled.

"Yeah, I'm okay, just wondering when the hell I'm getting out of here," he replied and then patted the duffel bag beside him on the bed. "I'm ready to go."

"Cool. Aiden and some nurse is getting a wheelchair to your room as we speak," he said with a big smile. "Time to bust this joint."

When he heard the word "wheelchair", Danny groaned.

"Must we do it in a wheelchair?" he complained.

A few minutes later, after having the nurse – a burly guy called Bob – practically carry him to the wheelchair despite his vehement protests, he was sitting in the wheelchair watching Aiden fussing over his duffel bag.

Another stupid hospital regulation that he didn't need. That he had to be pushed out of the hospital in a wheelchair.

"I can walk," he complained for perhaps the hundreth time.

"Quit whining, Messer. And enjoy the sympathy from the ladies," said Flack with a grin.

"He gets no sympathy from me," called Aiden who was busy rearranging his things in his duffel bag.

"And I don't see no ladies around," Danny muttered, feeling miffed that people are still making decisions for him.

Aiden threw him a look. "If you weren't sick, I'd give you one, Messer."

Danny had an insane urge to stick out his tongue at her. He managed to resist it to give her a glare for manhandling his duffel bag.

"Must you do that? I packed it nicely already," Danny protested as he watched Aiden folding his shirt and carefully placing it in the bag.

"You call balling up your shirts up and tossing it in packing?" Aiden commented wryly.

"Yeah," Danny replied defensively.

"That's why you need me, Messer," Aiden said with a smirk as she closed the duffel bag.

"Bah humbug," Danny muttered. But he couldn't help but smile at the whole scene: Aiden doing some housekeeping for him. He should've brought a camera.

"By the way, you've got quite a welcoming committee outside," Flack said as he sat down on his bed. _Former _bed, thank you very much.

Danny perked up immediately. "Really?"

"Yeah, really, Danny," said Aiden as she came to his side. "Didn't know you had so many fans, Messer."

"Fans?" he asked, puzzled.

"Yeah, _fans. _Makes me wonder what you've been doing after office hours," she said wryly.

"Does she sound jealous to you, Flack?" he tried to look around to where Flack was.

"Yeah, you know, come to think of it–" Flack began.

Aiden gave Flack a light slap on the shoulder. He chuckled.

It took a week of observation before they would release him. Aiden mused that it would've been longer, but because Danny drove the nurses and Dr Ferell up the wall with his constant protest that "I'm fine, and I don't need anyone checking up on me every five minutes", they relented and released him early.

When they got to the lobby, Danny got a good look at the 'welcoming committee'. It was Shannon, decked in the perfect summer outfit – tank top and micro shorts, holding a big, colourful sign that said: "Welcome back, Danny!" She was flanked by two of her friends – persumably – all decked out in their summer best. One, a brunnette, gave him a wink.

"What did you say Shannon did again?" Flack asked with a transfixed look on his face.

"Uh ... She is a dancer. At a broadway show. _Chicago_, I think."

"That means little black outfits," Flack said dreamily.

Aiden, totally ignored by then, rolled her eyes and slapped Flack on the arm. "Grow up. Come on, we gotta get Danny into the car."

"Yeah, she's definitely jealous," Flack said under his breath. Danny chuckled.

"Shut up," Aiden replied. She rolled her eyes and began pushing the wheelchair towards Danny's "welcoming party".

Danny could only smile at his friends' antics. And when Shannon and her friends surrounded them, his smile grew bigger.

"Oh, wow. You look so much better," Shannon cooed, her blue eyes sparkling. "I had the worst luck. You were asleep each time I came to see you."

"He isn't asleep now," said the brunette, flashing him a gorgeous smile.

"He's cute," said the redhead in a heavy Australian accent. The girls giggled. Flack flashed them a broad grin while Danny fidgeted in his seat and gave them an uncomfortable smile.

"So, this is Tanya," Shannon pointed to the Australian girl. Tanya waved. "And this Shona," this time the brunette smiled.

"Hope you don't mind, but I got my friends to come help out. We had a break in our rehearsals, so they said they'll come along to help," she said.

_Help do what? Mop his brow? _Aiden thought sardonically.

Aiden cleared her throat. "So ..." she began.

Shannon's blue eyes widened as if she just remembered something. "Oh, right, the car! The girls and I have been taking care of your apartment while you were away. I hope you don't mind, but we did a little cleaning. Mitzi is driving the car around the bend as we speak!"

"Oh, er ... thanks," Danny said awkwardly.

Just then, a station wagon stopped in front of them.

"Hello!" the girl inside called. She was a blonde with the brightest most beautiful smile Danny had ever seen. He made a conscious effort to close his mouth.

"This has got to be a dream. I must be in a coma," Danny whispered under his breath.

"Here's Mitzi!" Shannon squealed. "She's Swedish, and the only word she can say is 'hello', but we make do."

"Hello!" Mitzi called again, waving happilly.

"Can I go with them?" Flack asked Aiden in a small voice.

Before Aiden could answer, Shannon excitedly gestured her friends over to Danny's wheelchair. As one, they surrounded him. Shannon practically elbowed Aiden away from the handles and quickly wheeled him away.

"We'll take over from here, Audrey! Thanks!" Shannon called out. The last thing Aiden and Flack saw before Dannydissapeared in the cover of girls was his confused expression.

Aiden blinked, then called out: "It's Aiden!"

"You think he's going to be okay?" Flack wondered out loud.

Aiden snorted at that. "With the Baywatch beauties? I don't doubt it."

"Nah. I think he needs help. See ya!" Flack gave her a wink and followed after the wheelchair.

Aiden was left standing alone, speechless, at the entrance of the hospital for a while. Then Danny called out: "Hey, you comin':

She smiled and began marching towards them. "I'll take the wheel!" she called out.

Danny sighed and stared out his apartment window. He was strangely glad to be staring at the brick walls of the neighbouring apartment complex instead of the bright blue sky which was his view for the past few weeks in the hospital room.

The crowd finally left ... after having Shannon make him practically promise that he'll be available for a date tomorrow, that is. More like she's coming over to fix him something. Flack was having some success with Mitzi, who learnt two new words: "Date" and "Yes".

Not that he didn't appreciate their company, but their energetic presence was draining him a little, and he wasn't sure how long he could keep smiling.

And Aiden ...

"Hey, I've heated your dinner. Straight from Papa's Deli," she said from the kitchen.

"Thanks, Aid," he called out over his shoulder.

He heard Aiden's footsteps and looked up just in time to see her sitting on the couch next to his.

"You sure you're going to be okay?" she asked.

"Yeah," he nodded. "Food's in the microwave and I can walk around. I'm _fine_," he stressed.

Aiden smiled at his exasperated tone. "Mac and Stella really wanted to come over, but they were called away at a scene at the last moment. But they'll probably be coming over tomorrow or something to bug you."

He smiled at that. Funny to know that there were people who were ... concerned about him. Though he still didn't know how to deal with all that fussing he got from them. Still, it was good that he and Mac were okay again.

Seeing him smile, Aiden patted him on the knee and got up.

"Hey, Aiden?" he called just as she was taking her bag from the dining table.

"Yeah?" she turned around as she donned her light coat.

"Thanks. For everything. Especially that night ... you know ... with the whole, er, crying thing," he said awkwardly. He was probably beet red now. He cleared his throat.

Aiden came over to where he was and kissed him on the cheek.

"What are friends for, you know?" she said softly.

He nodded and shrugged. She just patted him on the shoulder again. When he heard the front door close, he said under his breath, "Just friends?"

Silence greeted him. Danny sat like that for a while, staring out the window, then he began remembering again ...

"_Do you think he did it?"_

"_Who, my son?" said the voice from the other side._

"_Did you think ... did you think God killed Tony for me?"_

_A heavy silence, then: "My son, you know that God does not desire any to perish but all to have everlasting life."_

_Danny merely stared at the door of his confessional booth. He felt numb. It had been a tough day. The nosy detective who had made his life hell for the past few weeks just came over to tell him that he's been cleared of all charges. It was an accident. A very unfortunate accident – that's how Tony died. The detective didn't really look convinced. Heck, Danny didn't want to believe him either. For the first time in a long time, a cop actually believed him. Not the detective, obviously, but some cop somewhere._

"_I didn't try save him."_

"_Tony?" asked Father Casavlas._

"_I just stared," he whispered. _"_Then he fell. And you know what's the fucked up thing? He killed my dad. And I still want to save him. I feel **guilty,**"he spat the word out like a curse. "I feel guilty because Tony died. It's all fucked up."_

_He buried his face in his hands. A tear slid down his cheek and he brushed it aside brusquely._

_Father Casavlas stayed respectively silent for a while, almost as if he could sense that Danny was trying to bring himself together._

"_Danny ... you're different from the rest of the boys. Your father wanted you to have a different life. A different life from his life ... and he sacrificed a lot to ensure that. You're different. Don't let nobody tell you any different," Father Casavlas murmmured._

"_That's what my dad said too," he said softly. _

"_You know what's weird, Father?" Danny said after a moment of silence. "I got word from NYU today. They're giving me a scholarship."_

"_My God, Danny!" Father Casavlas sounded delighted._

"_It's stupid, you know. I applied for that scholarship just to spite my dad, to prove that I can't go anywhere. I had this big plan to show him that rejection letter and tell him that he was crazy to even ask me to go to college. And then ... here it is. God is a funny guy."_

"_Uh-hmm."_

"_Almost as if he took everyone who will hold me back," he said bitterly. "Dad ... then Tony. And then pushed me out the door to a whole new chapter in my life."_

"_Danny, that's not -"_

"_I don't know what to think anymore," he hissed. He got up quickly, nearly tore open the door from its hinges in his haste to get out. He could hear Father Casavlas coming out from his booth, could feel his eyes on him._

_He was alone in the world. Cut off now. A clean slate. That was the only way he could get out of his Dad's Tanglewood shadow. _

_And for his dad ... he will take this chance._

Danny closed his eyes at that memory. He remembered how he accepted that scholarship, and how he studied like a dog to make sure he got through, and how he ended being a cop – a Tanglewood's son, a cop! He did it to spite them all.

And, here he was.

He smiled to himself.

Funny how an illness made him remember how he got to where he was. After Menhaus, everything was a blur. He forgot why he was a cop, or why he even tried so hard.

He remembered now.

"It's for you, pop," he murmmured. And a small smile appeared on Danny Messer's face.

With that, Danny got up to sample Aiden's heating skills.

THE END

* * *

End note: Wow. I actually completed a story. Hee. To be honest, I was a little nervous when I read how some reviewers wondered whether I'd have a big reveal about Danny's past. It was never my intention from the beginning to write a story about Danny's "connection with Tanglewood". This is mostly a fic to show the friendship Danny has with the other CSI, and also to illlustrate why he's a cop. I hope that I've done an okay job in that department. ;) Thanks for reading! 


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